


metamorphoses

by vois



Category: Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Genre: M/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vois/pseuds/vois
Summary: Miran Froaude wants Lucile Eris dead. Miran Froaude needs Lucile Eris dead, actually. Seeing as that isn't going to happen under the current circumstances, he'll just have to find a way to tip the scales in his favor. Rearrange the board, if you will. Introduce a new playing piece or two.- though even he must admit the actual plan doesn't sound half as intelligent when he describes it explicitly.
Relationships: Lucile Eris/Miran Froaude
Comments: 16
Kudos: 2





	1. miran

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idola/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to say we can create a future together

It’s a remarkably simple solution, in the end.

He desires for Lucile Eris to die. He requires it for the advancement of his ambition. Furthermore, he must be the one to kill Lucile Eris; the man, if he is indeed a man, is certainly not going to die anytime soon, and who else could possibly be entrusted with a task of this magnitude, this weight?

No one, of course. So Miran must do it himself.

\- except he cannot defeat Lucile Eris. Even when he is using what Miran suspects to be the merest fraction of his power, Miran cannot defeat him. It is… grating. It is frustrating. It ignites something within him that he suspects to be fury, from the way it scorches his insides and blurs his sight with need. Every defeat is more fuel for the pyre that he finds himself constructing in his mind, in his every waking moment.

He must weaken Lucile Eris further, then. But how to do it?

Poison is hardly viable; Miran has never seen Lucile drink or eat, unless it was Miran’s own blood or the accidental(?) swallowing of flesh. He is hardly one to cast aspersions regarding the latter, of course, having once sunk his teeth to the bone in Lucile’s forearm in a fit of desperation and torn away a bloody strip. Lucile had not made the slightest sound, although his face contorted very briefly, and the sight was so maddening that the fire roared and flickered and started following him into his dreams.

Miran is capable of admitting this to himself; this is no longer a matter of ambitions and obstacles. He does not desire for Lucile Eris to die. Rather, it is something he _needs_ more than anything. If he had to perish himself to ensure the Duke’s defeat, then - 

...Mm. It is tempting, in its own way. But it should not come to that, for Miran has devised a solution. He has eliminated all other possibilities and arrived at this unlikely scheme. 

Lucile’s one weakness is his flesh and blood. His family. Being what he is… whatever it is that may be, he is fully capable of simultaneously bedding Miran in the Eris estate, protecting the Lady Eris in the far reaches of Roland, and watching over the younger Lady Eris within the palace. But if what he needed to protect was _within_ him, then, possibly - 

“I will have need of an heir, eventually,” Miran pants against Lucile’s neck as he thrusts feverishly into his cunt. This is their second round of the night; he had thought to bring this up when Lucile was distracted by their activities, when Lucile might lower his guard as a result of that distraction, but he was not expecting it to work. However. However, he observes Lucile stilling. It is a brief and miniscule thing, gone within the second, but Miran has been watching him very carefully. He has always watched Lucile Eris, but lately even this has increased - and what he sees, yes, it fills him with a light and airy feeling, knowing that his plan has started so smoothly… 

“Apologies for my presumption,” he continues, “but I also imagine that you do not desire for either of your sisters to inherit your estate…”

“You presume much,” Lucile rasps, “not in regards to my sisters, but rather that there will be anything to inherit from me.”

“Then any child born of this union will take my name,” Miran says, and punctuates this remark with another thrust - sharper, harder, his tip jutting against Lucile’s cervix. The man moans, and Miran knows it must have been due to the feeling of his cock pressing in so deeply, but if it were due to his words - if, by any chance, it could be due to his words… oh, Lucile Eris. Oh. You are so very infuriating. As if Miran’s legacy was one worth inheriting. As if the Froaude name is anything compared to that of the ancient retainers Eris. As if the name he held before could also be worth anything other than pity. Isn’t it pathetic? Shouldn’t he be the one grovelling?

“Froaude,” Lucile says. His cheeks are pink and his voice is breathy. “Eris-Froaude. Miran. Shall I - what do you think of the name - "

Ah, how readily he agrees. Miran wets his lips and presses them to the nape of Lucile’s neck, then the corner of his jaw. The edge of his cheek. He nearly wants to flip Lucile now, and invite him to return the favor with far more teeth. Is this relief? No, it cannot be. If he does not know Lucile’s motives, then he has no cause for relief.

So, what reason could he have? Is it a fetish? But this is rather beyond that. What could it be, for Lucile Eris to consent so easily?

“By the end of this night,” Miran says. He had visited certain institutes to prepare, and retrieved a promising array. It was a bit risky, and he had not tested it to the extent he could have, but he knew the spell had strong effects. Invigorating, to say the least. He would continue for as long as he needed.

Because, if it took too long for Lucile to conceive… didn’t that make Miran himself more vulnerable? Didn’t that make him more at risk for discovery?

One night. One night will be all he needs.

“By the end of - " Lucile’s voice is tight as he echoes Miran’s words. It is strange. Even when Miran indulged Lucile’s more unorthodox fantasies, he had never sounded so…

“Yes. Do you object?”

Lucile inhales deeply and holds this breath for what seems like an eternity. “No,” he says, at last. “Con...continue.”

“Of course,” Miran says, and pulls Lucile’s hips up. At this angle he can reach deeper, so deep that Lucile bites into his neck and groans. It does not take long for Lucile to clench and shiver around him, even at the relatively light pace he is keeping. It is tempting to pause here, and try to turn so he can see the faint traces of feeling play across Lucile’s face, but he has a goal here. Miran keeps going. This is not usual for them; Miran is hardly an inconsiderate partner. But he is not being inconsiderate of how Lucile feels now. If anything, he is excessively mindful of the way Lucile groans, of the way Lucile’s cunt ripples around him, of the way Lucile… well. If this makes him cross the line sooner than expected - this is Lucile, after all. 

He closes his eyes, basking in the feeling. Lucile moans and squirms a bit on his cock, as if telling him to keep moving. Miran grips his hips and turns him over without pulling out, and Lucile makes a truly beautiful sound at the way Miran’s cock twists inside of him. Miran also needs to catch his breath after something like _that_ , actually.

Miran looks down at Lucile, flat on his back with his legs splayed, and looks up again. Even with such an arousing image before him, he is only human, and must use magic to speed his recovery.

...though his cock aches very pleasantly when he sees Lucile in such a debauched state.

“A moment,” he says, and traces his fingers across his stomach. Miran does not actually have to look at his hands for this; he has practiced tracing that array enough times that he could do it in his sleep. If Lucile were not revelling in the soft glow of orgasm, perhaps he would have expressed his interest. As it is, the spell sinks into his skin slowly; the effects are much quicker to manifest. He is hardening before the glow dissipates. 

Lucile _mmh_ s when Miran shifts inside him, and grips his own legs before Miran can reach for them. He pulls them down and apart so that it’s almost as if they’re framing his face.

“Harder, this time,” he commands. Miran does not have the strength to deny him. 

Pulling out is difficult. Lucile had, in those moments of recovery, tightened again. Miran knows he must be imagining things, but it is almost as if he is clenching harder than their first time. On top of that, the air feels terribly cold on his cock after spending so much time surrounded by Lucile’s heat. He draws back slowly, until only his tip remains inside Lucile’s cunt, and exhales shakily. 

Miran _does_ intend to enter him just as slowly, only. Only Lucile’s warmth is so very pleasurable. Only Lucile’s wetness makes it so much easier than one might expect. He ends up slamming himself back in like some unrefined beast, and knocking a startled cry from Lucile’s lips. 

“My apologies,” he pants, even as he begins withdrawing - slowly, so very slowly - once more. It is so, so tempting, to remain there. Is this why legend says the devil rules over fire? Is this why Lucile, the monster, the demon, the seducer, leaves his skin burning every time he so much as brushes his fingers across it? “If you desire anything - "

“Again,” Lucile says, voice high and tight. “What I desire - Miran. Miran, you - do that, do that again.”

So he does.

Lucile doesn’t cry out this time, but he does moan. It is low, and long, and loud. It is deafening. As Miran keeps going all the sounds and sensations around him seem to blend together like the beat of a single heavenly drum. The slap of skin on skin with the feeling of Lucile’s ass against his hips. The hammering of his heart with the wet, slick sound of Lucile’s cunt as he slams in. The roar of his blood with the breaths he is taking, nearly gasping, as he reaches his peak - 

…

From the way Lucile is shivering, he must have come at some point as well… likely more than once. Miran goes to push himself up and off of him - to collapse on his enemy like this, how embarrassing, and - 

Lucile whines.

Of course Miran freezes. Any man would freeze at a sound like that. Any man would be moved by a sound so like a wounded animal, so high and needy, yet at the same time so threatening…

“Stay,” Lucile - what should he call that sound? ...Surely not? Surely? - and loops an arm around Miran’s shoulders. “It feels good. Doesn’t it feel nice for you, too? Inside me?”

Miran swallows. Lucile uses this opening to clench around his cock, and then - it feels like - god. God. God. “You seemed so reluctant to pull out earlier,” Lucile continues, and shifts his hips. Miran makes a deep, guttural noise, and sags against him.

It is not that Lucile is comforting, certainly not, but he is warm and soft and Miran does appreciate the way their bodies press together in everything from violence to sex to… whatever this may be. When he finally convinces himself to move again, he is unsure how much time has passed. How long could they have possibly stayed like that, anyways…? Seeing as Lucile does not have to worry about Miran’s weight numbing his limbs, it could be - anything. The lighting does not seem to have changed much, at least.

Lucile makes a disappointed sound. “Already?”

“...it has been a while, I think.”

“Mm. Well. Go harder this time, would you? Or maybe not, if you’re saving your energy…”

“Not at all.” He does have that spell, after all, although after their period of rest he probably does not need it just yet. “I did promise tonight, after all.”

“Yes. Tonight, certainly…”

Lucile’s voice trails off into a sigh as Miran starts moving. This time he presses Lucile’s legs down further, folding his body near in half, and pushes his hips shallowly but quickly. It would not do to be overeager and push his own semen out; that would just be counterproductive. Furthermore, it does not take any effort for Miran to reach the end of him at this angle, and so once again Miran finds himself appreciating Lucile’s flexibility. 

When he finishes, a quick glance upwards finds Lucile biting his lip. His fingers are curling not into the sheets as Miran had thought, but in his hair. Lucile tugs one hand sharply, and Miran hisses.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Keep going.”

He casts the spell again. This time it takes more out of him. This time he goes just a bit slower. Again and again and again, until he isn’t so much kneeling and bent over Lucile as simply laying on top of him, rolling his hips lazily and rutting up into that soft, wet heat.

Once again, Miran cannot bring himself to pull out - not from the pleasure of the feeling, but from the exhaustion that has settled into his body. The moment he acknowledges it, he finds himself noticing all sorts of sores and aches. Lucile makes a little noise when he lets himself go completely, closing that last little distance between their bodies.

...There is a hand fisted in his hair, making his scalp sting... and another one next to it, petting him. Petting him, gently. 

“When you’re ready, cast the spell again,” Lucile murmurs against his chest. Miran finds himself nodding, even though he is tired and near entirely depleted. “And roll onto your back… this time, I’ll handle everything.”

Miran finds himself recovering remarkably quickly. Perhaps an effect of Lucile’s unearthly presence? If so, it might be useful to look into that before Miran kills him, for the sake of the military.

Lucile clings to him as he rolls over, and sighs happily as Miran stiffens within him. Again. Again. He places his palms on Miran’s stomach as soon as the glow of the spell fades, and Miran notes that a few of their fingers are just barely touching.

Then, Lucile begins moving.

The pace at which he lifts and drops his hips is certainly more suited for himself than Miran’s pleasure, but the sight of Lucile Eris with his lips parted, sighing and panting upon his cock… it stokes a fire within him, certainly. One that he isn’t sure can be attributed to the usual feelings. 

When Lucile cums, and Miran looks up to see his face, his pleasured face - he knows it. Yes. Absolutely. When Lucile keeps moving despite the way his arms now tremble and his thighs bunch and shake - he knows this as well. To the core of him, completely. When Miran cums, taking Lucile by surprise so that he doesn’t stop moving quite soon enough, so that he can see some of his cum trickle out of Lucile’s cunt and down his cock - 

Yes. Yes. Miran knows. Miran knows now, certainly. 

But it is always good to test a theory. Truth is often subjective and must be examined carefully, in every possible situation, from every angle, with every caveat and - 

Well. Miran promised the entire night, didn’t he?


	2. miran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- but he already has a ring.

Lucile is more excited than usual. When Miran touches his fingertips to the crook of his thighs, they come away sticky. He wonders what it is that led to this, and how many more encounters will have to occur for him to properly ascertain it. Even when Lucile is so eager, he does not say it. Miran wonders what circumstances would be necessary to hear Lucile beg, and whether or not he could feasibly engineer them. But he is invested enough at this point to admit that no matter how much effort it required of him, it would still be worth it. Would such a venture not be classed as reconnaissance? But of course. And information on enemy weaknesses is always worth having. 

At any rate, Lucile is willing and ready, so there is no reason to hesitate. Miran grips his hips and yanks them close as he pushes forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth movement. Lucile moans, as he always does, but quietly - the burn of the stretch must be lesser, this time, since he is looser. But Miran rather likes it. Lucile is just loose enough to make the hot, wet glide around his cock truly decadent. Miran swallows once, then twice, pumping into him with increasing eagerness. 

It is not yet desperation, but with such a heavenly feeling, he will soon be overcome… well, probably…?

"Ah… not so hard," Lucile says, which is unusual enough that Miran stops moving entirely. He looks up at Lucile, beseeching. Has he displeased the man somehow? Certainly he has never heard Lucile say anything of the sort before - rather the opposite, in fact. Every word that does trickle past Lucile's lips is, generally, either praise (sometimes backhanded, which is even better) or demands for more (which may as well count as backhanded praise). He has never before been asked to slow down or, god forbid, stop.

But Miran does stop, because this is Lucile and if Lucile has cause to request for him to  _ slow _ then certainly it is of enough concern to halt entirely. The concern Miran holds is not for Lucile's comfort - though it is true that he might understate things, as he often does - but rather for his strange power and the curious hunger that accompanies it… It is a hunger for sins of human flesh, as Miran is given to understand. Certainly he has seen Lucile eat of his enemies, himself included, and he cannot imagine another reason for Lucile to sleep with him so regularly, especially after combat, if not to sate that hunger…

"Miran," Lucile is saying. "Miran, come back to me."

He inclines his head. "My apologies. I was merely considering a multitude of possibilities - "

Miran stops short. Lucile is giving him a strange little smile, one that he has never seen. He smiles more freely, now. Perhaps feeding from Miran in this way is helping. Perhaps if that monstrous power within him is sated it will grow complacent and weak. "There's no need," Lucile says. "You can keep moving, just do it more gently…"

Miran opens his mouth to voice his protests, his theories, except -

"...after all, while I am most content with how we do things, it wouldn't do to shake the baby?"

Miran's jaw snaps shut.

The… baby?

His eyes dart immediately to Lucile's belly. To Lucile's smooth, flat belly. There is a slight curve to it, yes, and a roundness, but that is - it is insignificant enough to be overlooked entirely, as he had done. Now that Miran sees it, it is still possible to dismiss it as a fault of the angle at which Lucile holds himself, hips jutting upwards, or perhaps the lighting, since as always they meet in the early evening, only -

"You are with child?" It is not a question in the least, and yet Miran cannot help the lilt in his voice. He cannot help the uncertainty. It is - it is earthshaking, really. He had not expected - wait, had he expected to succeed in that last ploy? Had he  _ really _ ? Miran cannot seem to recall, which is incredibly vexing, even on its own and without all the context and implications and, and… and does he want his world to change so greatly? 

No, not here, not now, at the very least, not when Lucile is laying so comfortably beneath him, when his thighs are parted for Miran to kneel so comfortably between, when his cock is held so tightly within - 

If Lucile is with child. If Lucile is pregnant. If Lucile has, within his body, a baby… their baby? If Lucile has, within his body, their baby -

Miran pushes his hips forward ever so slightly. Lucile mirrors him, pressing closer to him with a sigh. His thighs are tensing and bunching around Miran's hips, and as always Miran  _ knows _ when his tip presses against Lucile's cervix. This time, though, the slight feeling is exaggerated by the curve of Lucile's spine, by the soft sound of his contentment, by… by the way his belly…

To think that a child is growing within that belly. To think that his and Lucile's child is growing within - 

He presses the palm of his left hand to Lucile's stomach without thinking. When Lucile's breath hitches, Miran's heart does as well, as if it is chasing after and ever so slightly behind. But the distance is lesser, now. Lucile is less monstrous, now. Lucile is with child and weakened and the gap between them is closing, now. The entire purpose of their last encounter was to weaken him. To weaken him for the purpose of killing him. Him and that unborn child both, which is certainly a mercy given that this is a union of such sin...

Lucile catches his right hand by the wrist before Miran even realizes he has raised it. He smiles far, far too gently.

"Would you have me bite the fingers from your hand, Miran, so that you could never again wear this ring? ...I would not be opposed if you should desire something like that, you know."

He says it as if they are allies, conspiring. As if Miran had not impregnated him for the very purpose of finally, finally removing his aberrance from this earth. 

But it is not the time. Today is not the day. Not tonight, when Lucile will lay so warm and heavy beside him. Tomorrow is far too soon as well, but perhaps the next time they meet after that? It will be long after the next morning, where Miran will wake with Lucile's head against his chest, wondering if Lucile has a heartbeat as well and if he might hear it someday... But, there is no need to rush. He can afford to wait. Lucile will grow weaker still with time, and the growth of their child. As his stomach continues to swell, the odds Miran faces will grow to favor him more, more, more…

Still, the idea of Lucile bleeding is far too tempting. It fills him with such a furious heat that his mind grows fogged and dizzy. Miran swallows again and again, eyes flitting between the curve of Lucile's smile and the curve of his hips and the curve of his  _ stomach _ \- 

"Just the ring finger," Miran says, hushed. "And I must request that you reattach it, later."

Lucile's smile widens, all teeth, and he lifts his hips. He lifts Miran's fingers to his lips. He lifts his fingers to Miran's lips…

Unlike their last encounter, Lucile does not have him roll to flip their positions. He rises slow, steady, unwavering, and pushes Miran down with just his fingers. No. No, it is not even that. The touch of Lucile's fingertips may connect their bodies even more intimately than his cunt around Miran's cock, but it is the thin sliver of Lucile's gaze that forces Miran onto his back.

The distance between their bodies is… Miran finds himself wishing that Lucile would lean down and properly close it. That Lucile would properly silence him, not with his hand but with...

This time, Lucile rides him slowly. Lucile clenches tight around him as he rises, as if he can read Miran's mind and knows exactly how desperately Miran wishes to impale him with his own hands, how dearly he wishes to bury his fingers in his flesh and never remove them. Then, when he sinks down again, his cunt loosens its grip and ripples most obscenely. It is as if he heard Miran's wish just now, and sought to exact justice against him for daring to think something so… chaste and unfitting. It is as if he means to wring Miran dry. It is beyond tantalizing. 

His tongue curls around Miran's fingers one by one. His mouth keeps pace with his hips, and Miran shivers at the chill when the air hits his wet skin…

He is helpless. He is transfixed. Yes, he certainly cannot kill Lucile Eris like this…? He can only lie in wait. Not even that, for he is no hunter with a trap, but only the prey… Yes. Miran can only lay here, waiting for Lucile to end this game.

This helplessness, it's dizzying. Miran closes his eyes but he can still see every line of Lucile's body. He feels his hips jutting upwards as if being tugged on a string. He feels Lucile's mouth pressing against his skin. He feels that ring pressing into his flesh as Lucile, what, kisses it? Tugs at it? Oh, he feels teeth -

The feeling that lances through his spine is as vivid and distant as a dream. Even the pain coiling through his palm and up his arm does nothing to dull the wonder he feels - the opposite, really. Miran closes his eyes - no, opens them - no, he is still unseeing - 

"Not so rough," Lucile chides, and flattens both hands on Miran's abdomen to push himself up. To push Miran away. The air feels cold against the base of his cock, and the fluid trickling down it does not help in the least. The fluid - it's cum? He came? He has been rutting up into Lucile's cunt even as his cock softened? The realization makes Miran's skin flush with…

A needy, protesting noise tears itself from his throat, and his eyes widen at the thought that such a sound came from him. Lucile pauses as well. While Miran usually delights in catching him off guard, this time it is really a bit too embarrassing.

...Lucile's shoulders are shaking slightly. It is not enough to be like when he wants to laugh, so maybe this is his way of giggling. Well. At least someone is entertained. Miran calculates the odds if he were to attack Lucile now, or at least tries to, or at least considers trying to, before giving up entirely. He rolls his head to the side and stares at the stump where his finger should be.

His ring drops into his palm. Miran does not even twitch. He simply stares at the distorted reflection in its gem, before sliding his gaze up towards Lucile.

...his severed finger, it's dangling from Lucile's lips?!

His heart skips a beat. It's so childish. It's so charming. Lucile's eyes are closed and the line of his mouth is hard to make out due to the finger he's holding between his teeth , but even so Miran knows that he is smiling. He feels himself smiling as well, a mirror to what Lucile must be feeling.

Lucile drops the finger into Miran's palm as well. The stump throbs when Miran closes his hand around it.

"I can reattach it now or later," Lucile tells him. Miran makes a small noise, dazedly. "Later, then. Haha. Your face right now is rather charming."

Miran closes his eyes. He feels Lucile settle against him. He feels the curve of Lucile's stomach press against his own belly… how could he have thought that it wasn't obvious? The enormity of what he has done is so warm and soft and heavy by his side, now.

He fumbles for the bedside table, and drops his finger and ring carelessly. It's better this way, so that he does not behave too recklessly. Miran's hand throbs when he places it over Lucile's belly. There's an intake of breath that's just uneven enough for Miran to think of it as a gasp or a sigh.

He'll be waking with his finger reattached and his ring covering the scar that it may or may not leave, Miran knows this much. He won't be seeing Lucile for some time afterwards. It could be months, or it could be weeks. Still, for the time being…

For the time being…

He opens his eyes just a sliver. Lucile also has one hand on his belly, not so far from Miran's own. If his hand were whole, then the tips of their middle fingers would be touching. 

But it's not, so they're not.

Content with that thought, Miran closes his eyes again, and drifts off to sleep.


	3. lucile & miran

Miran's gotten sloppy as of late.

It's as if he's troubled. As if he's realized something. As if he's thinking too deeply. Given the places that his eyes keep flitting, given the way that his fingers are trembling…

Well. Perhaps that last one has other reasons as well. Lucile will allow him this, and so he stops twisting the letter opener embedded in Miran's palm. If anything, his twitching only increases… haha. Well, it will heal. If not, it can be replaced.

Lucile removes the ring from Miran's finger. This seems to cause him far more distress than how Lucile had been toying with him previously. His face contorts so deliciously that Lucile cannot resist bending down for a quick kiss. 

Well, it might be generous to call it a kiss. Lucile is not a generous man. Neither of them are, really, despite all that they give to each other. Maybe it is a form of compensation, or… oh, it might be fun to think of it as property shared between spouses? Haha. Regardless, Lucile knows himself, and thus the man beneath him, like a distorted and watery reflection. He bites Miran's lip and has to fight the urge to rend flesh to accompany the blood that is already flowing. 

Miran groans weakly beneath him. It is muffled by Lucile's lips, of course, but the way the air inside his mouth trembles, the way the vibration of his skin makes it feel as though he has prey against his lips, fighting to escape, fighting to live -

Oh, it is really too tempting. But he has been eating carefully as of late... after all, who knows what it might do to the baby?

Lucile sighs and withdraws. Miran stares up at him, brow creased.

It is not like him to be so obviously upset. This last attempt was really quite clumsy as well. He had lunged for Lucile out of nowhere, without even a proper weapon, though he had at least thought to augment the letter opener with his ring’s shadow. Not that it would have mattered. Lucile’s unearthly powers have been lessened, certainly, but only by his own volition. Even without them, Lucile is still an Eris. Even without that, even if he had been trained at a much lower level, Lucile is still someone who would have survived Miran’s assault. It was simply that pathetic. Any one of Sion’s officers would have been able to defend against it easily.

...wait, no, they were supposed to be far stronger than the average soldier. Haha.

It must be frustrating to be bested by someone weighed down with child, but Lucile is yet to enter even the third month. Third trimester, the time where he would be weakest, is still some time ahead. And yet Miran is already like this. Such impatience… but it is endearing.

“What if I swallowed this ring?” Lucile asks, idly. Miran stiffens beneath him. His belt digs into Lucile’s thighs, and… oh, they do feel a bit sore. How mundane. “It is not as though I must eat.” He has only been doing so for the baby, after all. “What if I kept it there? Do you think you would be able to retrieve it? Would you be able to thrust your arm into me and tear it from my stomach? What do you think it would look like, Miran Froaude?”

Miran has witnessed at least one child being born, he knows, but that was an ordinary birth. Lucile doubts that he’s been stumbling across pregnant women on his trips outside the country, but it’s possible that before they met, before he came under Sion’s service, during the time that he was a trophy on a battlefield - it’s possible, then, that he saw a stomach cut open to retrieve a baby. A civilian, a comrade, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that unpleasant face Miran is making.

To say it is unpleasant is not to say that Lucile dislikes it. Lucile likes all of Miran’s faces. But certainly it gives the impression that Miran enjoys this encounter far less than he does.

Ha, haha.

Lucile sets the ring down on Miran’s stomach. Then he starts sinking his hand through. He leaves the top of it out, though, so that it looks as if Miran’s ring is resting upon his finger. Miran’s eyes are wide and trembling. The indulgence of it all nearly makes him shiver.

"Will you not commit yourself properly to killing me...?"

Saying this kind of thing when Miran is so helpless beneath him... it's funny. If Lucile smiled now, it would be all teeth. _Yes, Miran,_ he thinks. Know this. Know that he is powerful still, far more than any human, even without this child that is growing in his belly, this miracle that has somehow taken root in his belly, this indulgence that somehow proves rather than denies him his last dregs of humanity…

It is a disadvantage. Yes. This is simply true, and he will not bother to deny it. Why would he? It is not as if this weakness does anything to lower its value. 

For it has value. 

For it is a treasure to be guarded jealously. It cannot be said that Lucile is a generous man, not when he behaves so desirously. And what he desires is to give Miran Froaude everything. Pleasure, fantasy, Lucile's fingers in his marrow, Lucile’s flesh around his fingers. He has gladly dripped pearls and rubies from his body for Miran's awestruck face, and will gladly share with him even this bounty… especially seeing as he reaches for it with such covetous hands.

For Miran believes this to be a weapon. He is not entirely mistaken. This is a blade, certainly. This is a blade that he forges within a womb that aches to exist. It grows sharper and heavier with every day. When finally it is drawn from the forge, he has no doubt that it shall become the most beautiful of blades... but still this is not a weapon. This shall never be a weapon.

For it is only a weapon if Lucile fears it falling into the hands of another.

For there is nothing more that Lucile desires, in this moment, than to see his child cradled in the hands of…

"It is a pity," Lucile says. He places a palm over his belly. _It is a pity that your sire wishes to kill me, and you with me._

Miran grunts above him. His gaze is ardent with something that is not hate, has never been hate, will never truly be hate… that is also a pity. It would be so wonderful to see Miran gaze upon him with that kind of look in his eyes.

His smiles. He can try to elicit it, certainly.

So he does.

-

“Miran Froaude,” Lucile says, lip curling. “Miran Froaude, have you grown weak?”

-

Miran jolts awake at his desk. Again, again, again he had fallen into sleep while looking over some document or other. He glances down and sees that it is some economic agreement. Although he has dripped ink all over the second and third paragraphs, it should be easy to rewrite.

He retrieves some fresh parchment and finds himself blotting the ink, mind empty.

He is exhausted, he knows. Miran needs sleep, no matter how he despises it. No, that is not to say… To be more accurate, his human body, that is what needs sleep. His weak, human body. But now that he has grown more familiar, perhaps even… accustomed, to sharing a bed - to sharing a bed with Lucile Eris - it feels colder, and less appealing, and it has been weeks since the man has been seen by any other than the king...

Has Lucile grown bored with him? A meaningless question. How could there be any entertainment left to find with him when he has made such a disappointing showing? That last attempt, it took only seconds for Lucile to disarm and pin him, and the breath he had exhaled as he did so sounded like a sigh…

And, and, at the end, what he said… “have you grown weak”, he said. Miran remembers it so vividly when he closes his eyes, even in his sleep. Even now it crawls through his head, refusing to die, groaning and echoing. Had Lucile thought - highly? - of him before? Had Lucile thought him strong, despite the distance that Miran has never been able to close, the distance between his hand and Lucile’s true, human body? Had he -

No. No!

“Kch!” Miran strangles the sound he wants to make, letting it die in his throat. It leaves a corpse there, an uncomfortable lump that he has to swallow around as he tries, again, to read what he has ruined.

_A petition regarding the district of…_

The name is vaguely familiar, more than just letters on a map. Yes; Miran had been there, once. Once, a long time ago, sent to seek military glory for the late Marquess Froaude. Lucile is capable of being in many places at once. What is it like? Does he have a primary location? Has Lucile ever been there? Could he be there now? What would it matter if he had, if he is, if he would be? What does it mean that Miran is here, contemplating this, when he should be _writing_?

He grits his teeth. The next he jabs his quill down, the tip snaps and splatters ink across his desk, onto the sides of a few other stacks of documents, onto his clothes and his skin and there is a wet fleck on the side of his neck where Lucile had, just a few days ago, nipped him so gently it had not even reddened.

He knows what it means. - if he says this enough, maybe it will become true.

But what does Miran know, really? And how can he be certain? After all, he only _thought_ he knew what it meant to impregnate someone. He thought he knew what it would mean, but less than seven months remain until Lucile is to carry a child into this world, and somehow he had overlooked - no, he had completely forgotten to consider - somehow, somehow - 

Yes, what does Miran know about _fathers_ , really?

Miran has thought about it. He does not bother to know whether he does so often, or rarely, or as a habit, or perhaps only once before. But he has thought about it, certainly. He has thought about what would have happened if he, as a child, had dashed his head open upon the rocks by the creek that wound through his village; thought about what would have happened if his father had taken him along rather than one or even both of his sisters; about what would have happened if he had done as his mother had pleaded, what would have happened if he never went to the city, if he had chosen some other man as his mark, about - 

He needs to kill Lucile Eris, but more than that, he needs to ensure that the child is never born.

It was - foolish. Of him. It was foolish of him to resort to such a tactic. Because, it has already been two months and yet Lucile does not seem any weaker for it even if he no longer disappears through Miran’s strikes in combat. Because it has already been two months and…

_Miran Froaude, have you grown weak?_

Weak, Lucile had said. Not - not weaker. So had he held Miran in some form of esteem, then, even aside from allowing him into his bed. He has not seen any indication that Lucile takes other men to bed, and given the nature of their time together, Miran is confident in his assumption that Lucile only… no. No, he cannot afford to make such assumptions. Still, if Lucile did not hold some unique regard for Miran, then he could have chosen anyone else. Even if the point were to choose someone close to the king, then… then, he regrets to think it, but even Field Marshal Klom - 

No. No! 

The chair is sent clattering to the floor as Miran rises from his desk. His chest hurts; he places a palm over it, and realizes that at some point he began breathing very, very heavily. Poison? No, he has not ingested anything recently, and certainly not while working. Miran learned his lesson from the last time he ate that secretary’s cooking. So, then, why is he - 

_Miran Froaude, you have grown weak._

He barks out a laugh. 

So, what is it, then? He had held the esteem of Lucile Eris at some point, without realizing, enough that the man not only allowed Miran into his bed but also to - to impregnate him, even - _god, what was he thinking_ \- and now, now, now he no longer has that? Lucile thinks he has grown _weak_? 

“I’ll kill you,” Miran gasps, even as his hand crawls south. “Lucile Eris, I’ll _kill you_ , I guarantee - !”

It’s not new, what he does. Even if it were, it’d be embarrassingly predictable. The thought of such a face, beautiful as the devil, distorted for the first time in agony - the thought of sinking his fingers into the soft flesh of Lucile’s untouched throat, and feeling the vertebrae beneath, which must be so different from the strange firmness of his cartilage, his cervix, the little bumps of bone beneath those elegant hips - the thought of, of Lucile choking and gasping, face flushed as he struggles to breathe - 

Who could resist? Not even a Runan priest, probably. So this, well, it is, ah, that is to say. 

It. It goes predictably.

Once. Twice. Perhaps three times. Miran does not know for how long he has been kneeling here, or even when he fell to his knees, but the evidence remains plain for him to see. This means, of course, that it is also plain for Lucile to see. If he is looking. If he bothers to look now that Miran has proven himself to be unworthy, and human, and weak, and incapable of even standing in his vicinity, never mind as an equal beside...

Miran. stares at the stain on the carpet. He stares until his eyes are dry, until his head is spinning, and bows it low to inhale the scent of his shame until finally, finally, finally he retches.

Thus his crime is buried. 

...He needs a smoke. 

Yes. He will have a smoke now, and everything else can wait. His work will be waiting in the morning, and this carpet will be waiting to be cleaned, no, replaced entirely, this carpet will be waiting to be replaced entirely, and his bed will be - 

His bed will be -

Miran swallows.

His bed will be cold, he knows, and waiting, waiting in vain, for Miran will not feel such warmth again until he kills Lucile Eris - one last time, finally, finally, impossibly - because he is… because he has grown…

It’s not as if he meant to, but he slams the door when he leaves.

It doesn’t mean anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> although normally i prefer writing mirans pov bc lucile is.. like that, writing lucile was rly fun this time. which is very suspicious. very worrying. what does this say abt the quality


	4. lucile

It's been many years, hasn't it?

It's been many years, yes. It's been a long time since Lucile has cared for the passing of time, as if he could even feel it. Or should he say even if he could feel it...? After all, it's been a long time since he could remember how to feel it either. An eternity, maybe.

The sun is coming up, so he allows his palm to brush across the growing curve of his belly. Every day could feel new. Every day could feel different. It's been a long time since Lucile's tried to sleep, but he's taken to it lately. If he could... if only he could sleep, it would mean waking. It would mean waking to some new feeling every morning. It's not like he's succeeded yet, but at the very least he's capable of enough discipline to resist touching it all night. Then, first thing in the morning, he can press his palm down and feel this thrill. It's not quite the same, Lucile knows, since he can't ignore this weight in the least... but it's still exciting. 

He wants to feel this forever. He wants to feel each strange pull, each individual increment of this weight, he wants to somehow feel each gradual change forever, without ever stopping. At the same time, Lucile wouldn't want it to last an eternity even if it could. When was the last time he looked forward to something? When was the last time he savored such an experience? 

\- well, when he fought Miran, he supposes. But those spars lasted a good amount of time. Long enough for Lucile to just begin immersing himself in it, short enough not to avoid losing his head. Like cooling his ankles in some creek as he wiped the blood from his shins, back when he was a child - it's been a long time since that, too, hasn't it?

Still, this is - 

Lucile could drown in it. Maybe he is already. He imagines a sea he's never seen. He imagines the memory he overheard some soldier recounting. She'd spoken of how her head had bobbed up and down, above and below the waves. How the water pressed down on her relentlessly and how she gasped for breath, sometimes swallowing seawater because she couldn't think clearly enough to adjust her timing. How it seemed endless and yet so quick, at least until she'd remembered to rid herself of the worthless baggage weighing her down, the refugee clinging to her legs, and kicked away so she could swim...

At the time Lucile had only thought of how Ferris would never be so foolish as to get in such a situation in the first place, and indeed he had heard later - that night, or that month, or that week - as she told Iris so gleefully about how Ryner had howled and gulped like a fish while she sailed down the current on a stray board... haha. He'd really wanted to pet her head back then. 

Back then... when was it? Could he say if it was a year, or just half? The old king was gone before then, and he hadn't talked to Miran yet. He hadn't had this weight in his belly, obviously.

Yes, this is the most Lucile is capable of. Of remembering a handful of events and comparing them... haha. But wouldn't it be nice, if he could recall more than this? If he could know the day of his child's conception? If he could know when it would be born, and remember so as to celebrate it, to fill himself with more of this expectation? 

\- wait, the latter would come first. Haha. He really is foolish.

There's no reason not to go through his sisters' things. He visits Ferris's first, but apparently it's been so long since she's been back that her calendar is flipped to the wrong month entirely. Even Lucile can tell that. So he goes to Iris next, and she tosses in her sleep, grumbling as if she might - even in her dreams - feel her brother's presence. Well, maybe he's getting sloppy. 

He flips through that incredibly pink notebook of hers. It's hard to make out any of the original text since all the pages are thoroughly covered in her scribbles. It's usually dango or murder. Sometimes eating dango while committing murder... or a sentient stick of dango as the culprit? Haha. How silly. 

Lucile doesn't know if he should be gratified or annoyed about it, but it seems that at some point the usual victim in these drawings has changed from himself to that pet monster Ferris is keeping. Well, if each page is a week, then it's really been some time since she's drawn him... oh, but if each page is a day, then it's not too long? That's a much nicer way to think, isn't it?

Well, at least Lucile knows the date now. But it's useless, isn't it? Since he doesn't know when this child was concieved... it's such a shame. 

It's hard for Lucile to tell apart new thoughts, but this one - this, here, clearly. It sends a jolt through him. "Such a shame," he repeats, letting the words roll about his mouth. Iris stirs and he turns to look at her, to check how close she might be to waking. The way his weight shifts so differently, the way his ankles protest and ache - that, too, is new, but not in the way that this thought is. Such a shame, such a shame, such a shame - 

How is it that it had never occurred to him before? It was only one night, but every night he has spent with Miran feels so real and well-defined. Even if Lucile now realizes - there was never anything keeping him from relearning to count the days, or at least to mark the ones where they were together - at least, that night, a night like that - 

Everything is happening in a very strange order. Did Lucile become a monster before he killed his parents or after that? Does he regain humanity after the baby in his belly is born, or does it drag him back from a journey towards the future? Did he ever want this badly to eat a human after he met Miran or was it before? If it was before, why would he? It's not like anyone else could taste so sweet. 

No, what if this child - 

He sets the notebook down. Iris rolls over. Lucile retreats.

How long has it been? How long has he been standing there as Iris lay sleeping? How long has it been since Lucile has felt the need to retreat, especially from something like this? Child, oh, child. You are so far from being here, and already you are...

"Already you are like this," Lucile mouths, and sighs. He says it again, louder so that he can hear it over the wind. He has said it to Miran, mocking, but is it not truer of himself? How long has it been since he has felt this vulnerability? Lucile has been so removed from ordinary or even extraordinary lives that he... well, it might be better to say that he's removed from human living. Beasts only follow the need for eating, for sleeping. They do not track birthdays or years and certainly not the weeks and trimesters of a pregnancy.

Lucile doesn't even sleep. He can't seem to make it happen. Maybe it's his body telling him that it's a bad idea, that he'll be defying some law of reality as if his existence isn't heresy already. Maybe that's true. But he does want it.

Even without the temptation of waking to something new and exciting, Lucile’s been more tired lately. It’s incredibly gratifying, as if exhaustion is rescuing him from something far worse by tethering him so that he can sink no further, rise no higher… haha. Without it he might drift away entirely, either to the bottom of the sea with this weight in his gut or to the stars from the lightness in his throat.

Yes. Lucile is tired. His ankles have begun to ache with his steps and while he does not enjoy it, the pain of it is so different from the usual hunger that he cannot help but close his eyes so he may feel it more fully. So that he can remember it when the time comes for him to step back into a monstrous skin. 

It’s been so long. So long since he felt exhaustion. So long since he felt his bones complain. Once his child is born, it will be a long time again until Miran, seeing that his ploy is unsuccessful, will take him to bed for this purpose, if he does at all. Well. Maybe not. Maybe that man is more easily convinced. But the chances are low, the books say so, and then there is also what Lucile knows of his late mother’s fertility...

...he can always steal the spell himself. Perhaps he can convince Sion to cast it for him. Or perhaps Ferris’s pet monster, to show her that there are no hard feelings if she really wants to bring a dog into the house again. It would be nice if they could get along more, especially for his child's sake. Well, who would it disturb more? Sion will no doubt make a funnier face than that monster, but Ferris… oh, and Iris could always try to kill him again. Haha. Yes, that will do.

It's good to look forward to something. It's good to plan to have something to look forward to. It's good to have to suck in air in short bursts as he throws himself above rising waters. It's good to have someone helpless and burdensome cling to his body, and it's good to cling back in return. What he has to offer is small and brittle, but it is warm, and shall pierce even the heart of time. Is that not a wonderful thing? Is it not wonderful that even he is capable of offering something at all? For that something to be, possibly, a future?

No, well, my goodness. What a greedy way of thinking. But the sun is rising, so Lucile can be greedy. He traces his fingers along the curve of his belly. 

And then he feels it. His heartbeat quickening and fluttering. Something new, something thrilling. 

Maybe it's the warmth. Maybe it's that his unborn child can hear him already. Lucile doesn’t know. What he does know is that night, Miran gave him far more than this child, and for that alone Lucile would love him. For that alone Lucile could kill him, save him, spoil him, maim him, anything on this earth that either of them could ever want to do. But more than that - 

“Anything on this earth, I’ll do for you,” Lucile whispers.

It is a new day, and he knows yesterday's date, so if he adds a number, then, yes - Lucile knows what today is, and more importantly - 

He presses his palm down just a little harder, and waits. He doesn't have to wait long before he feels it - just a little twinge, but Lucile knows what this means, what this is. Something is pressing back. 

Lucile turns his face towards the sun. His lips do not move, but even the most monstrous of fools would know - he is smiling.

It will be a long time. It will be no time at all. He is tired of waiting. He isn't tired in the least.

Everything can come at its own pace. He has time. He has nothing but time.

It is the twenty-third. His child is tossing and turning as it sleeps, safe within his belly. 

"...sweet dreams."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> babykickies


	5. miran

Life is duller without Lucile, somehow.

Blood is still red when he sheds it. Screams are still loud and unpleasant to hear. The ink does not seem any darker on the paper, nor has the paper yellowed despite how long the time feels as it passes. Glass is not colorless, reflecting whatever is near, though Miran never glimpses what he wishes to see. His Majesty is radiant - unreachably so. It's not like he's any less blinding than before, no matter how Miran tries to look at it. None of these things have changed, and yet.

Yet all the same, it feels, somehow - 

Less?

He could ask His Majesty about the whereabouts, the condition, the activities of his oh-so-faithful shadow, but he would probably just laugh, asking if Miran was attempting to bait him for some sort of compliment. Even if he did not smile and call Miran pathetic for it, he still has a feeling that...

...

It's not like what they have is loyalty. When Miran thinks of Lucile as faithful, it's simply that the man does his sworn duty. It doesn't... it doesn't have anything to do with whose bed he chooses to lay in at night, or the fact that he even chooses to lay there and... a full night, even by his definition, is a long time to watch someone sleep, and listen to them breathe, and even longer with a cock inside. It must be. But to say that Lucile is faithful to, to anyone other than Miran, no, to even say that he is faithful to Miran presumes that there is something in the first place that is worth keeping, or losing.

Miran is beginning to realize that he does not want to think about His Majesty and Lucile Eris possessing any relation to each other, much less whatever it is that Miran himself shares - shared? - with him. With either of them. It is unacceptable in any capacity. He is the only man that His Majesty should need, after all, and it is not as if Lucile can obtain any benefit from sparring with the king, or even stopping to speak, and furthermore the man is unfit to - 

_But isn't he the unfit one, between the two of them?_

He could count the days. Miran _should_ count the days, really. Four months, however many weeks, a day or so, and then down to the hour - he has every means of knowing. Miran has every step to every path written methodically first in his heart, then in code, in separate locations for separate secrets to be seen by separate pairs of eyes, or none at all. Still, here he is, not bothering to keep tabs on what should be his greatest gamble - and, should he succeed, greatest achievement - to date. 

What is wrong with him? What is wrong with him, really? That he can count the heartbeats between now and the last time he saw Lucile Eris, then add on the number of seconds since he called Miran _weak_ , and yet - yet he can't even bear to _think_ of the plot turning and rising to fruition- 

It must be desperation. Less than five months remain until he loses this window of opportunity. Miran needs to end this, quickly, because once it closes Lucile will... he will have, with Lucile... 

He can't allow it! He can't allow such a, a monstrosity - such an affront against - oh, against _who_ , really? It's not as if Miran has ever been a godly man, yet isn't a cataclysm like this often what drives men to find religion? His only doctrine has been survival and his only prophet his king, and yet now he finds himself thinking back to his roots and wondering. 

Is it just fear? It can't be. It feels nothing like fear. It feels nothing like being called 'son', like looking up through iron bars or at grinning man. It's so similar, though. Is this what fatherhood means, then? The thought of being looked with the same eyes and face from his sisters to his father, or perhaps himself if he ever had a face to wear that wasn't a mask, it is - had his predecessor felt this? If so, how could he have enjoyed it? This is, this is beyond recognition - 

Grand Marshal Klom is in the gardens staring at some irises when Miran attacks him.

"What the hell?!"

"Your reflexes have deteriorated," Miran says. "I expected more of you, but then again, only I am fit to serve His Majesty - "

"Huuuuuh?! You want to take this to the training grounds, bastard?"

He does, actually.

But there is no satisfaction to be gained from fighting today. Miran doubts that Claugh has ever given an opponent reason to call him slow, at least not in the physical sense, and yet while his steps are not necessarily easy to read, they are easy to avoid. Miran leans out of a blow and into another, dodges grasping fingers just to break them against rock, and it's not - it's not, it's not _entertaining_. Compared to Lucile, this is - 

...

"Smug brat," Claugh groans. "And here I can't use this arm or anything..."

"Why not?" Miran asks. "After all, I use my ring."

"Yeah, but your ring has a range between 'off' and 'hundreds of thousands in property damage', you know?"

Given his track record, and the battles that Claugh has witnessed, Miran wouldn't expect him to say something like that. Even Lucile has criticized him for being heavy-handed, though when he had offered to fund repairs for the dojo he had only laughed. 

"Tens of thousands isn't that different in the eyes of those that matter," Miran says, and then, "I didn't expect you to know a phrase such as 'property damage', Marshal Klom, have you been studying?"

"...Ugh!" Claugh grunts and rips his arm out of the wall he managed to embed it in. "What's up with you lately?"

"Pardon?"

"That joke just now was weak and you know it," Claugh says, turning to look at him properly. He gives Miran an exaggerated once-over, as if they weren't nearly the same height to start with. "You're off your game... well, with insults, at least. Who the hell have you been training with? Shouldn't I have seen you if you were tearing up the barracks..."

He could mention Lucile Eris. See what Claugh made of it. But for some reason, he has no desire to. No, if Miran simply had no desire, then it would be easy to sway the decision, but he finds himself more opposed if he digs just a bit. But what's another secret between the two of them, whether shared or hidden? 

Seriously, he's just becoming unreasonable.

"If you're coming to me for advice, then I fear for the state of our nation," he quips. No, wait, that doesn't sound quite how he wanted it.

"Yeah, like that," Claugh says. "And you just made a sour face, too. Not that you ever smiled or anything to begin with... or had much color, really, but you're just gray lately. If you got sick, go home and don't pass it to me! Shit, is that what this is? You trying to get me infected with the plague or someshit so we both go down and you don't have to leave Sion alone with me?"

Ha, haha.

"Don't be ridiculous," Miran says, and then realizes that Claugh is grinning. Hm. It's not a bad feeling, but it could be better.

"Seriously, though, you've even quit throwing girls at Sion lately, what's up with that? Last time was... well, if the situation is that dire I'd already know about it, so..." 

Claugh squints at him for several seconds.

"...Please. Subtlety isn't one of your indubitably many skills. Get to it."

"Well, I guess you'd only stop if Sion really had a baby," Claugh says, and Miran can't help but twitch. "Huh? What! Are you saying that Sion had a baby? No way! I thought for sure - "

"I am not one of your subordinates, please take your gossip to the appropriate station," Miran says. The thought of Sion and a baby... it was once so urgent, but he can't imagine how that must have felt now. Indeed, the thought of children fills him only with distaste and unease. Better that the palace be without a squalling infant, indeed. He can only be grateful that His Majesty never bought into his ploys, even if the reason is so annoying.

"Huh? Look, we're both gross, what's the deal with heading to the barracks together for - hm." Claugh sniffs the air. "Uh, earlier I thought it was just you being stuffed up between those books all the time, but you kind of... it's not sweat, or ink, definitely..."

He would have thought the scent more identifiable to someone who spent so much time rubbing shoulders with nobility, but who knows what brands the ladies favor. If Claugh didn't know already, then Miran would rather not bring that particular vice to his attention. A careless insult or two and he escapes Claugh's attention easily enough, even if they are a bit weaker than usual, but perhaps their talk was prophetic. Usually, Miran would be delighted to talk with His Majesty, but today, the subject is - 

Agonizing. 

It's simply agonizing.

"I can't help but notice that you haven't... hm, introduced me to any young ladies as of late," Sion says. He is rearranging papers as he walks. He should not be talking to Miran about such trivial things. If a single page is out of order then the discussions could falter irrevocably, lose momentum forever.

But he takes care to keep his voice light. "Oh? If Your Majesty is taking an interest, then may I suggest - "

"No! No no, no, it's simply..." He turns and squints against the light to meet Miran's eyes. It's rather like the face Claugh made earlier, but less kind. "If you're scheming something in regards to Ryner Lute, I won't overlook..."

Miran nearly sighs in relief. The sigh he manages to hold in; the jerk of his shoulders not so much. Claugh is right, he _is_ off his game.

"Frouade. I will have no issue disposing of you if you overstep - hm."

He has a strange look on his face. Miran isn't sure what territory they are entering, but he can't say he likes it. So he agrees easily and does not press, even though they really need to do something about that man. 

Miran's not annoyed, he could never be, but perhaps he's a bit... short? Perhaps some reservation is being conveyed. At any rate, His Majesty goes silent.

"Honestly... between you and Lucile, I really..." he turns away, muttering. "...Such a headache. Is everyone becoming strange, I wonder..."

His gaze slides over to the empty desk where Ryner Lute once sat. Miran's eyes follow his, naturally, only he looks away as soon as he realizes. It's got nothing to do with him, after all. It's got nothing to do with anything. It's just another thing he can't have, truly.

But if even His Majesty has noticed Lucile acting oddly... is it really? Just what does it mean... shouldn't Lucile have made his state known to his king? Surely he doesn't believe himself that untouchable throughout the entirety of these nine months? Or if he does, then, shouldn't His Majesty be made aware of - well, since Lucile is so intent on keeping his sisters out of the family business, it follows that his child will have to take up the mantle instead, in which case His Majesty should certainly know of his future protector. Yes, isn't that reason enough?

But it seems that's not how Lucile sees it.

Miran goes home that day to shower, as Claugh suggested, but then to prepare. Well, he says that, but no matter how he sharpens his knives and checks over his poisons, it means nothing if his intended does not arrive. It leaves him with entirely too much time to think of what he will do if Lucile Eris - no, when! When! Certainly Lucile will not leave him waiting for so long?! - shows his face before him again. He brews teas meant to induce miscarriage and leaves the cups out, cooling, as if he doesn't know that Lucile would never drink from them. But Lucile must see it. Lucile must see it, at least, if only because he ought to watch all of His Majesty's advisors, and think - well, who knows what Lucile will think? 

It's too early to resign from this game. It's too early to raise the white flag. But every day that goes by without Miran seeing him is a day where the dread rises. It's as if a nest of salamanders has settled in his body, trying to flee from the fire in his belly and making him roil and retch every which way. If he didnt know better he'd almost think that he was the one who - 

No, no!

When he sees Lucile again... but what if when Miran sees him again, it is already past five months from now? What if Lucile will have already... with his strange, monstrous body, borne that parasite into this world? 

Every possibility is a loss. Each of them is more horrifying than the last. My god, what was he thinking? Miran taps the last of the ash from his smoke and exhales a grey plume into the sky. It billows like a strange veil in the rain. It's all because of Lucile Eris. Yes. If Lucile were here, he would tease Miran for the rate at which he is burning through them. Then Miran could attempt to pry his eyelids apart and put out the fire there, instead of dropping it into the tea. It's so unsatisfying. If only he could poison Lucile with mere feeling.

But... it is a possibility. An intelligent choice, even. If Lucile shut himself away until the child came screaming into the world, Miran could not blame him - not for that. He could blame him for other things. But what if Lucile appeared before him right before delivery? That, too, could happen, if only because it would be a good time to taunt him. Lucile might... with a soft face and distended belly, smile at him. Possibly. Or he could bleed, and his organs rustle free, like skirts or petals unfolding. 

All in all, it's sickening. He wishes that he could lock Lucile Eris away like the beast he is. He wishes he could lock away this future he's constructed for himself, but he would still be trapped in it. If Miran could lock away these thoughts, at least, he might be able to regain some of his prior efficiency. He is tired and it is only halfway through the evening... only halfway through the pregnancy as well, and yet he is - 

"Already you are like this," Miran repeats, remembering Lucile's words from the last time that they had met. The last time they had met, how long has it been? Deep in his heart he knows the days and he tries to strangle the number rather than think of it. He has not wanted to hide a body so badly for a long time...

Please. Please. 

He has not wanted to cry mercy for a long time, either. 

Miran lights another cigarette. Coughs from it. In the past, Lucile often interrupted any spare moment he took to... well, it did enhance his efficiency, in the long run. But now if Lucile has lost interest in him, then there is no need...

He is the one who put the baby in Lucile's belly, so why has Lucile seemingly lost interest? Why does Miran feel as though _he_ is the one who has been left wanting? Even though it would look like Miran is the aggressor, and Lucile the one who flees, it feels entirely reversed. The world is lopsided and ugly.

"Lucile Eris, are you afraid to face me?" he asks the sky, but it is hollow. There is not even the shadow of a plea left. How is Miran meant to kill that damn child if Lucile won't come to see him? 

How is he meant to _be_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yknow i really meant to add in a sex scene here somewhere but


	6. miran (& claugh)

There's a surge of - something, when Miran turns the corner and suddenly Lucile is there.

It's not relief. Certainly not. Rather, it feels more like -

His heart goes straight for his ring, and _pulls._ Miran summons up his beasts, all the worst of them, because if he can only _kill Lucile Eris_ the damage to the palace will be a small matter to worry about. He yanks the quill from the top of the stack of papers he'd been carrying and tucks it up his sleeve, just in case he gets the opportunity to stab it into Lucile's eye the way he's been dreaming. 

Miran's been dreaming of it all week.

Lucile actually dodges - well, perhaps that is a bit too flattering to himself. It is more that he sidesteps neatly, and very, very swiftly. It is - gratifying. Just a bit. Is it that Miran's connection to his ring's magic strengthened enough, then, for Lucile to finally stop disappearing _through_ the wretched things? Or could it be - 

Miran snatches a vase up from a nearby alcove and moves to smash it against Lucile's skull. He has learned to be unpredictable, or at the very least he hopes so. He needs every advantage he can get against this monster, after all, including - 

He can't help it. 

His eyes flick to Lucile's belly.

In that moment, that barest trace of a moment, Lucile surges towards him. With winding and delicate steps, Lucile surges towards him, and pins him to the wall by his throat.

"Have you become so easily distracted? And that early, too… what a silly mistake," Lucile says, but he is smiling. He did not call Miran disappointing. He did not call Miran weak, because Miran is not weak, and the burning in his chest is certainly from lack of air and not relief. As if hearing his thoughts, Lucile loosens his grip. It's not enough for Miran to escape it, but to snarl? Yes. How uncouth, but Lucile Eris always seems to make him a beast.

And this beast's jaws snap and thrash as Lucile forces it to his knees - no, not quite to his knees. He does not go that far. Lucile does not go so far that he can crouch beside Miran's hunched form as he usually does, and somewhere in Miran's mind, there is a whisper - _how disappointing_. Will they ever return to that time? Is it Miran's fault, the fault of his weakness? Is there a way that he can make Lucile Eris desire to kneel beside him and lick his wounds again, or will it always be like this from now on - from now on to the end, with Lucile standing proud and dragging Miran down to his height? His legs bend uncomfortably and his calves will soon protest from the strain. 

"...And that greeting," Lucile continues. He fills the silence, but his words are not filling. "Why, it's almost enough that I might think you aren't pleased to see me."

"You flatter yourself, Duke Eris," Miran grinds out, but even this makes Lucile laugh.

Is it always this easy to make him laugh? Is it truly so easy that even Miran, who was disappointing enough to be - what, avoided for weeks - can still procure the sound without even trying? Does Lucile laugh so easily with His Majesty behind closed doors as well? Has Lucile ever found His Majesty disappointing - 

"Oh, come now," Lucile chides. "Did you not intend to kill me? Did you not intend to burn my body along with the seed you have planted in me? That is hardly possible if I do not appear before you."

... _and so you must be pleased to see me_ , Lucile must be thinking. It is infuriating. And that paltry explanation, like he thinks so little of Miran's capabilities - but certainly there is no reason for Lucile to cherish that child so, to run away or fear for it to that degree, and he has proven himself more than capable enough in the meantime. This is only the fourth month. There will be worse to come, yes, but will Lucile ever truly be _weak?_

"I know my place, Duke Eris, and would never hope to - "

Lucile catches his wrist as easily as swatting a fly, never once taking his eyes - no, never once turning his face away from Miran. His eyes aren't even open, so why does it feel as though they are? How many times has Miran thought of Lucile watching him, without ever realizing - as he does now - that Lucile was never looking in the first place? How many times has his perception failed him like this? And, more importantly -

(If… if Miran could only see… what sort of light would they carry now?)

"...really, a quill?"

Miran clenches his jaw and refuses to look away. He will not suffer further humiliation in this defeat.

"Mm. You're so quiet today. Are you upset at me? Even though I have appeared before you to be killed, just as you so wanted…"

"You are hardly allowing yourself to be slain, Duke Eris."

"Ah, yes, the titles. So you are displeased… Marquess. But I wonder why. It's not as though you could derive any enjoyment from my death if you did not fight me to the end?"

He's right, of course. Lucile always is. But Miran is still - displeased. Why, then, if Lucile is right, does he still feel so… 

...what a dreadful feeling.

Only days ago, Miran had once again been fretting about what were to happen if Lucile did not appear until the last month, or even after, and yet now that Lucile is here - now that Lucile stands before him, as if a miracle, as if some careless deity finally heard his wish (and such a worthless wish, of all the wishes that could be granted!) - he should be pleased! He _should_ feel, well, even relief would be acceptable after all! 

So why, then?! Why is Miran still so - angry?

"Oh," Lucile says, as if realizing something. "Haha… how charming. Did you, perhaps…"

If Lucile finishes what he was saying, Miran doesn't know it, because… because there are better things to direct his attention to. Such as ramming a knee upwards as soon as Lucile steps closer.

Only Miran was not really standing, and his legs are aching more than he had thought, and Lucile catches him when he overbalances.

"Really, Miran," Lucile says, because apparently they are done with titles already. Miran tries to summon his anger again, but it is difficult when Lucile's body is pressed to his, and furthermore he can feel - he can feel - 

Um. What… is that, exactly? No, no, Miran knows what it must be, but it is still shocking…

Lucile laughs, again, soft and breathy against his hair. He lowers Miran to the ground and takes a step back. For a terrible moment, Miran is certain that he will take his leave, but then he kneels and bends forward, carefully… yes, of course. Of course Lucile would not crouch to meet him as easily as before, when he must maneuver to account for the b… belly. For his belly.

"Don't do anything rash, Miran," Lucile says, and then - smoother, even pleasant - "Allow me to make it up to you, then."

…

"You must have had a difficult time, without a, hm, proper outlet for your stress," and now Miran _knows_ he is teasing. The scent follows him like a perfume these days, and even Claugh has - ah, is that, perhaps, why Lucile has been absent? It is… it is not as though they see each other so regularly, and certainly Lucile's senses are beyond any human. Perhaps Lucile meant to come and fight with him earlier only to turn away at the scent, thinking that it was simply a matter of days before it faded, only for it to grow and grow…

How embarrassing! Miran coughs and opens his mouth to say - something, anything - but then snaps it shut again when Lucile lifts the hem of his shirt.

"It's a bit difficult, but… you can use my throat," Lucile tells him. He can feel his cheeks heating already. The implications are - but, well, the risk is also rather… and Lucile's mouth has always been enough to satisfy him, before. B, besides. His legs are still sore. And, and when Lucile takes action, it is always very…! Hm! Well, certainly it is flattering, and indubitably very pleasing, so - ! 

"...do as you wish, Lucile Eris," Miran says. His voice is a bit hoarse. And, and he forgot to stick to titles, although he is still cross! 

But Lucile smiles at him. So. It is not a loss, really. At least not entirely.

It is… strange, to lean back as Lucile undresses him. Well, that is an exaggeration. Miran does not even need to lift his hips, because Lucile lowers his head as soon as he pulls out Miran's cock, and…

"Ah, mmh."

His throat may hurt but he knows it will only get worse. Miran thinks to cover his mouth with his hand, quickly, before he can make too much noise.

…

Then, then Lucile stops kissing his cock and starts using his tongue.

From this angle he can't see it. Miran can't see anything but the pale gold of Lucile's hair, of his long lashes. But he doesn't need to, because surely, after all this time, if he caught a glimpse of those lips wrapped around even the tip of his cock, or that tongue as Lucile darted it across his slit - 

Urk!

It's, it's obvious what part of this Lucile likes the most. Because that delicious feeling of Lucile trailing his tongue up and down his length is gone all too quickly, and Miran can't even be upset about it, because… because Lucile is…

There's a flash of blue. Miran's heart stops.

Then Lucile's eyes curve in amusement, and he realizes his hand has fallen, and he has been moaning openly for some time.

…

Miran turns his wrist and jams his hand against his mouth again. The back of it, this time. Maybe he should care more about the effects of biting on a precious relic like some cheap gag, but his sleeve really isn't going to cut it. All Miran can care about is how Lucile is at least gracious enough to wait before he -

"Ggh!"

\- keeps sucking.

It's not - it's not _greedy_. But Lucile is definitely quicker than usual, unless it's just a trick of his mind from being so - well, it's been a long time, and even before they didn't usually - and the wet heat of Lucile's mouth is so different from that of his cunt, what with the way he moans and hums and, and sucks in his cheeks - !

It's, it's over all too quickly. And Lucile just - keeps swallowing, even around his softening cock, like he'll starve if he doesn't get every drop down. 

It takes a while before the ache overwhelms the joy of it. Of Lucile's eyes looking back up at him. And he smiles, too, when he finally lifts his head, and licks his lips…

"Well… I would kiss you, but it seems that you're bleeding."

Hm? Oh. Miran forces his jaw to unclench and lifts his hand. There's a wet, _red_ gleam at the edges of his ring, one that's definitely not spit… and one that is, it seems, quickly disappearing. 

...Is the gem _eating_ it? 

"That might have consequences," Lucile says, and it takes Miran several moments of frantically ramming his mind against various possibilities before he realizes that Lucile's shoulders are shaking, like maybe he wants to laugh. Or maybe Miran's the one who's shaking. Either way, it can't be that important. No, what's important is…

"Where were you," Miran rasps, and wants to slap himself for his vulnerability even as he speaks. But he doesn't… he doesn't stop himself from speaking.

"Hm? Oh… I suppose you could say I was spending some time with the family."

An answer! He could not be more eager to press his advantage.

"Your sisters, then? Would you prefer if I attacked them before or after killing you, Lucile Eris?"

"Haha… well, them as well," Lucile says, and pets his belly. 

"...Oh!"

Miran's stomach drops just as quickly as his heart had taken flight. ...No, it's simultaneous, actually? For some reason, his heart is still racing and floating?

"...Oh!" Lucile mimics. Or so he thinks, for just a second. But Lucile's hand has stopped moving, and he smiles in a way that is far too startling. "Your child is kicking."

...he might drop dead, actually. But Lucile did say not to do anything rash. And Miran is far too tired to make a worthy attempt at this.

"Already," he croaks, instead. And Lucile laughs.

"It's the fourth month, isn't it," and Miran can't help jolting. Is this the first time he's heard Lucile speak of it? Could it be, really? Even though he knew this already, for those words to come from _Lucile's_ lips…!

"I'll, I'll… next time," Miran says, a little desperate even to his own ears. And Lucile seems… happy.

"Next time, then… I'll hold you to it."

It's only after Lucile turns the corner that Miran remembers to be angry. Lucile is the one who disappeared so suddenly, after all, and… and they are still in the palace hallway! It is a more remote one, certainly, but it's not as if he can say with any amount of certainty that Lucile would have warned him of someone approaching! And even if he had, there are papers everywhere, many confidential! Miran could not simply abandon them to fix his appearance, could he?! And! And!

Miran manages to keep up the tirade until he reaches his office. Until he reaches his desk, specifically. 

It's not as if he wasn't right, or that he's no longer angry. His complaints are still completely relevant! It's just that...

It's just that they seem less important, somehow, than the little page sitting under the ashtray. Torn from a calendar, it seems, and… and Lucile has circled a date.

-

"U, um, that gloomy guy... is kind of," Calne says.

"U, uu," Claugh mocks. Then, Calne swats at him, and he realizes just where Calne is looking.

"Are you peeping on Froaude?!" he asks, aghast. "Look, just because he's got those long nails and that pretty hair doesn't mean he's one of your married ladies!"

Calne hushes him frantically, slapping a hand over his mouth. If it weren't for the glove - who knows where that's been - he'd definitely lick, or bite. Take a finger or two off, show that cheeky brat. 

As it is, he could just bellow. Calne's definitely not pressing down hard enough to totally silence him. But if Froaude came out here he'd probably assume they were both peeping, and then try to execute them on the spot instead of even a court-martial, and that'd be such a headache for Sion as well...

"Tell me you're seeing what I'm seeing," Calne hisses. When Claugh gives him a disbelieving look, he sputters. "Hey, I'm not peeping! You're the one that just called him pretty! So shouldn't you want to - "

Oh, screw it, Claugh thinks, and bites Calne's palm. Hard. He ends up having to spit to get the taste out - who the fuck keeps gloves on for, for whatever caused that taste?! - but at least Calne's suffering too.

"Se, seriously! Neither of us are peeping! That was a joke, a joke! Just, just come over here and look and tell me that I'm not going crazy."

"Lost cause, you were already like that to start with," Claugh mutters, but he can't help it. He's curious. So he looks, and...

"...U, um."

"See? See?!" Calne gestures wildly. Guess he doesn't care about staying hidden anymore. For once, Claugh can't even blame him; Froaude seems... preoccupied enough that he wouldn't come to check on them. "He's totally, he's totally blushing! He's totally got a secret wife or something, hasn't he?! He, I even saw him smiling earlier!"

Claugh looks again to make sure he's not going crazy.

Froaude is still doing that... thing. Looking at the paper in his hands, looking off into space, cheeks turning a faint but charming pink. He folds the paper up and goes back to his papers and quill, but then as soon as his cheeks seem to be going back to normal he sets the quill down. And unfolds that paper. And starts blushing again. It's like some horrifying cycle. Maybe it's a curse? Maybe he's been cursed? Some sort of experimental de-gloomifying magic...

"He, he could be sick," Claugh offers, but it's half-hearted. Calne steps away from him, closer towards the wall, and starts clinging and clawing at the carvings.

"No! No," he hisses. "I'm telling you, he's totally - he's totally in love! What else could make that gloomy guy turn into a cheery guy, huh?! And before you say 'Sion having a baby', Claugh, I checked! I checked just a few days ago and there are no secret Sion babies, you totally lied to me, Claugh, you great deceiver, I bet this is how you get all your women. For shame. I bet, I bet even that gloomy - that cheer - augh! I bet even Froaude is more romantic than you! I bet that's how he got his secret wife! And, and he totally treats her better than you treat your ladies, and - "

"O-oi, I have nothing to do with… don't, don't try and distract… the subject…"

Oh, what the hell is he even saying? He can't argue with Calne like this. 

He can sure as hell still fight him, though. 

Claugh wraps his arm around Calne's neck and starts dragging him towards the training grounds. That's ordinary enough, right? It's ordinary enough for him to have this brat in a headlock, right?! So, so that's totally fine! It definitely balances whatever the hell this is, and _everything's going to be alright!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually there were going to be two claughne gossip scenes but it was getting super long and out of hand so.
> 
> maybe we will get a claughne gossip spinoff.


	7. claugh & sion

"Um, sorry, did you just try to tell me that His Majesty's having a baby?  _ Again? _ "

Claugh punched Calne's arm, and then his face. And then one more time, just for good measure.

"Gya, gyaa, I give, I give!" Calne scrambled away like a mouse, but couldn't resist being lured back to the trap by the scent of bait. The scent of fresh gossip, specifically. "Se, seriously though. Haven't we been over this already? You used this trick just last week…"

"I said maybe!" Damn, but this kid's purposeful denseness totally pissed him off. It was funny most of the time but just annoying even more often than that, which was saying something. "Seriously, you've definitely noticed it, right?"

"Froaude not shoving girls into Sion's path isn't news anymore, Claugh," Calne pouted. He almost sounded disappointed. "And you definitely can't say anything about his good mood, since whatever that letter… gyah?! Unless you meant to say Froaude's having a baby with that secret wife of his?!"

"Oh, give it a rest, would you," Claugh grumbled. Stepping on Calne's toes was never satisfying because he always whined about it for  _ months _ , but it sure was looking tempting. "It's obvious there's no secret wife, if anything he's…"

"..."

"...let's...not think about His Majesty and that guy in this context," Claugh said, feeling vaguely queasy.

"Huuuh?! I feel like we're on totally different pages here, what on earth made you bring His Majesty into the equation?!" Calne gasped. "Unless you mean to say the two of them, together… from such a union, a secret baby - "

"Ugh! Shut up before I feed you my fist!"

Calne didn’t even bother to laugh and retort. He just kept blathering. "But they'd have to achieve it with magic, right? G, Grand Marshal, sir! Could it be you have something to tell me about that experimental magic Sion's requested your help with…?"

"Shut UUUUUUPP!"

They ended up fighting for a good while, until Froaude himself came to scold them and push them towards their offices. And of course by then Claugh couldn't tell Calne what he was thinking. Sure, Froaude's strange good mood could have come about from this, but if Froaude didn't know it already he wasn't about to be the one to leak what he'd seen.

As for what he'd seen, well. That bodyguard to His Majesty certainly had a pretty enough face to be a woman in hiding, if magic didn't cut it. And Claugh had rubbed his eyes way too many times that night, wandering the halls and unable to sleep. Fortunately, or unfortunately - whichever - it wasn’t a hallucination or fever dream.

No, he’d definitely spotted a short blonde with an undeniable curve to his chest and swell to his belly.

...In hindsight, it probably explained a few things.

-

"...that's not right."

Sion muttered.

Staring into the dark, Sion muttered.

It was night. It was so deep in the night that even he wanted to sleep. Even Ryner, who was miles away with Ferris and that brat strategist, was probably asleep… so Sion couldn't comfort himself by imagining that they were looking up at the same sky or anything. No, Ryner had probably run far enough that the stars were entirely different even if he was awake. There was no reason for him to stay like this in his office. It wasn't as if he had so much paperwork remaining. Many of his subordinates had a sudden surge in energy for some reason, so there wasn't any pressing work that would require for him to forgo sleep like this.

Such enthusiasm was only to be expected from Froaude, but Claugh? Calne? Something was definitely off. It probably involved a lady or two, though, especially given the mutters he overheard about chests, so what did it matter.

No, what matters here is that while his subordinates rally to his visions for the future, giving all of themselves to grant him the luxury of sleep, the exception just has to be the closest of all…!

Lucile Eris. His co-conspirator, the devil, the man who should be by his side always, or at the very least be watching. A few months ago, Sion would have spoken to the air, wondering if Lucile really derived so much amusement from watching him sleep.

But that would have to be a few months ago. Because now Lucile was...

"..."

It's not as if he hadn't been acting strange for some time, although, maddeningly, Sion seemed to be the only one to notice. Even when he spoke with Iris, despite all of her training she didn't think anything was all that different. But maybe he was being too harsh on her, even if they were siblings. Sion was tied more tightly to Lucile, after all, and it wasn't as if even he could tell so easily when Lucile was there, or when he wasn't, never mind what he was doing, whether he was obeying, how many places he chose to be in at any time. Because Lucile's power was monstrous. Because he wasn't a human. Beyond even Sion or Ryner's limitations, Lucile wasn't a human. But lately Sion was learning to notice things.

Things like… Aslude whispering. Things like, Aslude stirring in his belly.

It wasn't that Sion had never heard or felt Aslude before, more that it was so constant that he had learned to overlook it. Years of heavy aches and crushing weights left him inured to the tight, crawling sensation just under his skin, just as years of oily, sycophantic voices and giggles of maids gossipping left him with highly selective hearing.

That's why, when Aslude fell silent nearly half a year ago, Sion had spent the day in a dizzy haze. Back then he had wondered if he had gone somewhat deaf and wasted hours trying to make sense of it. 

Then, a few months ago, the pain lifted. Sion spent the day unbalanced and in bliss. 

Ever since then, Aslude's presence faded in and out until he had made himself  _ very _ obvious and drove Sion nearly mad with it. But he had a long memory and saw things that most other men might forget, so it didn't take long to realize Aslude's movements coincided with those of Lucile Eris… Lucile Eris, who spoke to him less often, who deigned to appear before him only in reflections, and who  _ was not here right now. _

Sion didn't need to confirm it. It was so obvious. That gnawing hunger, that lonely ache of longing. Right now, he couldn't feel it. 

Actually, for a long time, he hadn't felt it. 

And when he did, it was different... it hurt more than it used to, more like sharp stabs rather than a grinding pressure. It was lighter and it burned. Aslude would hiss instead of murmuring and there were really only so many things that could make an old god so very, very angry.

Love. Possessiveness. Jealousy.

Everything Aslude did, he did it for love.

"…"

No, that wasn't right. Haha. He did it to destroy the world, so that something could be built, perhaps, from the ashes, with him and his demon overseeing it. Well, maybe that was a bit romanticized. Maybe. It could be justice or it could be wrath, but all those and love too are only one and the same. So Sion could understand that, even if he couldn't understand why Aslude felt so differently for the wrong half of the demon.

Still. If Aslude is jealous, then...

"Getting clingy, are we," Sion commented, and he could be contented with the fact that Lucile did not hear. Because Lucile was nowhere near. Because Lucile was shirking his duties in favor of hanging back at… likely the Eris manor, doing... something? 

"...did you finally think to make a move on her, then?"

He knew he was only talking to the air. If Lucile heard it, he would... not kill him, probably, but certainly do something very unpleasant. So that confirmed it, then. That Lucile wasn't present. That lucile was growing lax. That he was being driven to distraction by some weakness.

Given Aslude's seething, it wasn't difficult to guess what kind of distraction was happening.

Still, there was one problem with this. The natural assumption would be regarding his sisters, right? Except even Ferris couldn't make the journey from so many nations away so quickly, never mind that she would have no reason to, and Iris was with Eslina in the palace near constantly these days. Furthermore, the Eris bloodline needed to live on in order to house the demon, just as the royal bloodline had to continue in order to house Aslude. It had been this way for millenia, and the god and devil were the ones who came up with it besides. Even if Sion believed Aslude capable of hating one of his precious demon's creations, Erises procreating was a necessity, so there was no point getting hissy over it. Which meant...

Lucile must be sleeping with someone outside of his family. Outside of his duty. Which meant Lucile was sleeping with someone out of genuine attraction, probably…? A night of frustration wouldn't lead to this strange behavior. And if it was mere frustration it would have happened much earlier, like during the revolution, or even the start of this war, or the one before that. So it  _ had _ to be attraction.

Of course Aslude would feel angry, then. Of course he would feel slighted that the vessel of his beloved demon, who by all means should have held the same feelings as the demon itself, was running amok fucking other... hm. Women? No, he couldn't picture Lucile showing any interest in women outside of his own house. Men? 

Sion thought of Lucile's fingers tangled in his hair. He thought of Lucile teasing that woman with the spear, as if she were a child. He thought of Lucile touching the back of his neck and whispering against his cheek.

...yeah, if anything it's definitely a man.

Which fell in line with the demon's tastes, and probably added to Aslude's anger. If no vessel could be born of such a union, then it could only be pointless.

So Lucile was running amok with a man or maybe several. It would certainly contribute to the oddity of the entire situation if he was sleeping with multiple people, but Aslude's rage would probably burn Sion from the inside out if that were the case.

Well, who, then?

...should he call Lucile here? Would Lucile even answer? Would Lucile even  _ hear _ ?

He had never been that neglectful, obviously, especially since Sion had surpassed his expectations and become even more of a priority...so it could only mean he was weakening. Unless Lucile was using all of the demon's power for some sexual purpose. That certainly wasn't a decision Sion would expect Lucile to make on his own, but there was at least one man who came to mind that would encourage it, so he couldn't rule it out entirely. 

Sion sighed. What a strange reality he had come to dwell in.

He could always knock on Lucile's door and demand to see him, but who's to say if Lucile is even at his manor? Who's to say he's there right now, even in the dead of night? He's the type of man who enjoys watching others, after all, so if he has a lover then he's probably spending the night there, isn't he?

"- urk."

A short jab at his temples, as if Aslude is trying to punish him for even thinking it. How annoying.

It's obviously true, then. Because otherwise Aslude wouldn't react in such a way. It's not like he hasn't thought unflattering things about Lucile before, and Aslude never reacted so strongly then…

Just where are Lucile's priorities, anyways? 

Sion can't sleep like this. He can't sleep in the least. There's not even paperwork for him to read over because he needs signatures and it's not even nearing dawn.

He yanks a pillow over his head and wonders, if he tries to smother himself, whether Lucile will finally show himself just to call him an idiot. There's a grating sound at the back of his mind which is probably Aslude's version of  _ whining _ . If Sion was meant to be saddled with a god couldn't it be someone more useful than this? 

Go to sleep. Just go to sleep.

He chants it until the sun comes up and by then Froaude is bringing his tea. He pours it into a plant and waits for Lucile, but the man insists on not fucking showing.

A week. Sion will give him a week. Then he'll have to ruin Iris' attempts at playing house in the kitchens. See where it leads.

-

Lucile walks in six days later, as if he never did leave, and smiles. With a hand on his belly. With a hand on his belly, Lucile is smiling.

Sion's quill snaps  _ just  _ from the force of Aslude's scream.

-

"Um, Claugh."

Claugh doesn't say anything.

"Se, seriously, Claugh."

He still doesn't say anything.

"Oi, hey, listen to me…"

Calne tugs at his sleeve. Claugh opens one eye to glare down at him, then turns his body away to shake the clingy brat off without ever uncrossing his arms.

"Come on, it's important, don't you want to know what I found out while digging through those laboratories?"

"...oh? I thought you insisted that there were no 'secret babies'," Claugh mocked, imitating a high falsetto for Calne's voice. As for Calne, well, he looked only briefly torn before pouting.

“Oh, mister Claugh, sir, I’m so sorryyyyyy,” the brat crooned. “Won’t you forgive me? I can offer you - ”

Whatever the offer was, it was unlikely to be sincere and  _ very _ likely to be some horrible innuendo. Claugh slammed the edge of his palm down on Calne’s head. “Oi oi oi, stop right there.”

“But great and masterful Claugh, sir,” Calne whined, and clung to his arm since he made the mistake of putting it within reach. Ugh ugh ugh. “I, I really sincerely... I need to recognize my wrongs, you know, and I didn’t even hear you out last time despite your generous offering!”

“...you called it  _ ridiculous _ ,” Claugh said.

“I, I did.”

“You called me an  _ idiot. _ ”

“Noooo, I didn’t say that!”

“Not out loud you didn’t, but everyone could hear it!” Never mind the fact that only chatted like this when there was no one within, say, a hundred meters. Either that or Froaude’s attacking range, whichever was longer. 

...come to think of it, Froaude’s range was getting bigger. They should probably be more careful.

He drags Calne a bit further from the castle, just to be safe.

"What? Oh, please. As if everyone's not going to hear about it soon enough anyways," Calne says. "This is Duke Eris we're talking about, you know? Little Iris is gonna blab it  _ everywhere _ when she finds out."

"What makes you think that he'll even allow her to?"

"...cause His Majesty's already poking at her over it? I heard from Eslina, he invited himself to one of their tea parties. She thought it was nice of him to worry about his subordinates so much and threatened to send him to the doctor's again… if I didn't know better I'd have thought he was trying to charm her!"

Claugh frowned. "Why would he do that? He's not like you, he's already got the Duke."

"..."

"What? You want me to punch you for real?"

"No, uh…" Calne coughed and stepped back a bit. "It just occurred to me we were thinking completely different things, probably…"

"Haah? Say it straight."

"Say it straight? Okay. You're an idiot."

He really said it this time! 

Claugh chased him around the barracks for a while. After five loops or so, he tackled Calne to the ground and sat on him.

"So?" he asked, and ground his heel on Calne's obnoxious face just to make sure he didn't get any ideas. "What the hell were you saying?"

"Claugh," Calne wheezed, and then fell silent. 

"What? Spit it out already."

"...you're getting dirt on my mouth," Calne ground out, and then went quiet again. 

Claugh sighed and reached for his boot laces.

"Wait - wait no no no, I'll talk, I'l - blechhh," Calne said, and wriggled like a worm in the mud. "Urgh. Seriously. Claugh, did you think  _ Lucile Eris _ was having His Majesty's baby?"

"...uh, isn't he? Who else's baby could it be?"

"Let me up," Calne said, "and I'll tell you." So he did. Except then Calne spat dirt on him, which led to another few rounds of chasing.

It was precious time they were wasting. Froaude was gonna come hunt them down any day now.

"...look, uh… this is obviously pretty important, so let's…"

"...sure," Calne said, and cleared his throat. "Anyways, I  _ suppose _ it's not an unreasonable conclusion for the average knuckle-brained idiot, but His Majesty can't be the baby daddy because that's what he was trying to ask little Iris about over tea today."

"Hold on, you were spying on Eslina? And Sion?" A grin was starting to stretch across his face. "Calne, are you - "

"I'm not jealous or anything! And I wasn't spying! I got Eslina to give me a play-by-play! And don't say anything about accuracy, even from just that it was obvious… he was totally trying to scope out if the Duke had a lover!"

Claugh wasn't one to go down easy, though. "That doesn't mean shit, he could be, like - " no, he couldn't say 'trying to scope out competition', that would make Sion sound entirely too emotionally invested. How about, uh… possessive! Yeah, he was clearly pretty - " - possessive. I mean, if the Duke is having his baby and all."

"Augh, you're so frustrating!"  _ He's _ frustrating? Calne's being a devious little snit as always and  _ Claugh's _ the one who gets called frustrating? "Can't you just take my word for it, okay, it was totally obvious from what Eslina told me that His Majesty's got  _ no idea _ about the baby!"

"Ugh, fine, fine. Let's say Sion's not involved. Then who the  _ fuck _ knocked up that weirdo?"

"Well, that's where it gets interesting!" Calne beamed, and he was acting way too  _ chirpy _ , and that was never a good sign. Claugh wondered if he was going to need a head start on running away. "See, I checked in around some of those labs you hang out in, and took a look at the names of visitors to the  _ reproductive magic _ ward, and guess whose name was at the top of the list?"

"Uhhh," Claugh said. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Claugh, you  _ dog _ ," Calne said, slinging his arm over Claugh's shoulder, ready to latch on if he made a run for it. "After all these years, you've finally managed to knock someone up! Why didn't you tell me? Who else would you name the godfather if not me - "

Claugh shoved Calne. Then, as was quickly becoming a theme in his life, he started running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually going to be even longer but the power went out so i just gave up


	8. miran

It hasn't been long at all since they last met. In fact, Lucile's really - early? Certainly it is some ways until the next day marked on the calendar, and certainly he does not usually approach Miran within his office at the palace, and - and it hasn't been long at all! And yet, all the same, Miran can’t quite help staring. As if a veil has been lifted away, he can suddenly see the changes to Lucile's body so clearly. His skin, while still pale, seems to glow with a strange life to it. His eyes remain closed, yet still his face seems more radiant. Lucile’s hips are far wider than before. Lucile’s chest, too, is...

...

His face has always held an otherworldly beauty, one to which gender could not be ascribed, much like a monument or a holy spring. Knowing his body as intimately as Miran does makes this seem strange. Fitting and yet not, considering the conditions of his very being, considering the ending towards which they stride, considering - well, considering his body. 

His body which now looks so very womanly.

When Lucile walks, Miran’s eyes used to be drawn to his legs, to the tight fit of black cloth around them, leaving so very little to the imagination… and now his eyes are drawn there, yes, and then higher. To his hips. To those hips that are now so round, and then along the curve of his waist to... to - 

“Those are for the baby,” Lucile tells him, smiling.

“Yes. So I see,” Miran responds, and then winces. His words are not quite intelligent, unless interpreted as a come-on, and even then it is just about the furthest thing from witty.

What is it about Lucile that makes him fumble so foolishly? Miran has never been drawn to such features before. He has never looked twice at a woman’s bust unless it was to gauge the likelihood of a weapon being hidden in her corset, and now he is gaping foolishly like some old lecher, like either one of his fathers would have, and he...

He had thought with such certainty that he would never be attracted to a woman, and thus undertaken certain missions that should never have fallen to the hands of one easily swayed. Must he now confront this reality? That he was _wrong_? That he was wrong, _again_? That he could have posed a risk, that he could in fact have been seduced by some enemy with a curvaceous enough body -

“I couldn’t be sure,” Lucile says, cleaving through his thoughts with as much grace and force as ever. His voice is even but his words are teasing. “You were staring like you’d never seen anything like it before.”

That’s because Miran _hasn’t_ seen anything like it before, by virtue of it being Lucile’s body. There is nothing like Lucile in this world. He should know. He’s buried himself in mountains of scrolls and old tomes to try and find a way to kill him, and now - well, Miran’s certainly killed _someone_ , but he’s beginning to suspect it’s himself.

Well. If it’s only Lucile, then it’s fine. Maybe he hasn’t made yet another a mistake.

“This is a result of your actions, you know,” Lucile says, leaning into his space. His breasts sway with the movement, slightly. Any further and they will be pressing against Miran, Miran will feel their warmth and their weight against his body. If he just takes a step further, or bends over slightly. Just a little more. “All these changes to my body... you could even call it your handiwork.” Like an artist with a sculpture? Please. As if he could ever be worthy. Lucile is already a work of art, and Miran is simply the vandal that intends to destroy him in his entirety.

“Don’t you want to see what you have wrought?” Lucile presses. Miran swallows.

“...this is a generous offer, Duke Eris.”

Lucile scoffs. “Come, now. Are we not past using titles?” _Since you have impregnated me_ , Miran imagines him saying, voice lowered and vengeful. Even now, Lucile is - difficult. He is difficult to read. Yes. That is what he means. And he cannot imagine that Lucile is as accepting as he appears to be, regarding this, although he had shook his hips and scooped even the cum from his thigh to press _in_ , most pleasurably - 

“Haha. You’re so excitable,” Lucile says, and drops to his knees. Miran doesn’t quite jolt when he brushes against the front of his pants on the way down, because - well, because it’s getting less surprising. There was a time that he’d be shocked and embarrassed at being so obviously aroused already. Now, it’s more or less a given that just a little time in Lucile’s presence is enough to get him this hard, already.

“Should you... on your knees...?”

With his belly, it can’t be comfortable, can it? But it is Lucile, but Lucile is weaker even if never weak, but, but, but.

“I’m quite fine like this,” Lucile reassures him. “But oh, I must say, how unlike you to worry.”

A flush heats his cheeks. He can feel his ears burning.

Lucile opens one eye and looks up at him, almost like a wink. Then he lowers his head again and unbuttons Miran’s pants with his teeth.

Did Lucile’s strange powers extend to even this…? He certainly didn’t learn this by practicing with Miran, and as far as he is aware he is the man’s only lover. He has heard, of course, of the Eris household’s strange training methods, to the extent that one could spit a dango skewer and pin a fly at fifty feet, but... this dexterity? Really?

There is more rustling. Miran tries to angle his head to see what Lucile is doing.

“...haha, you’re really... going to make me wonder,” Lucile says. He tilts his head back, hair swaying, so that his open robe and uncovered breasts become obvious. “Is it a fetish, perhaps? I’m willing to entertain it if you make clear your desires.”

To expose himself to Lucile in such a way, to reveal such vulnerability - for between the two of them, all information is a vulnerability - Miran reddens further. He can feel it spreading down his chest. “I - it is merely strange, and fascinating as such. This is not a unique interest of mine, I only...”

The curves of Lucile’s tits, small yet round, lead his gaze perfectly to the spot above his sternum. Miran cannot even be certain that Lucile’s heart is on the correct side of his body, or even that he has a heart within his ribcage to start with, but he can see those sharp collarbones and he has felt the firmness of bone beneath Lucile’s skin and... and if he shattered that sternum now, or perhaps bent his ribs, what then...? At the very least he knows that Lucile must _breathe_. 

...he knows that much, at least, if only because the sound has lulled him to sleep.

“You say that, and then you trail off in such a way - it is enough to make any man suspicious, my dear Miran,” Lucile says. He has no response to this, for he does deserve such mocking. Lucile is generous enough to wait nevertheless. “Haha. What fantasy has caught your mind this time? Shall I have to compete against your imaginings?” 

He pushes his shoulders forward, and then moves as if to rise. Miran’s cock presses against the top of his tits, and he swallows.

Then Lucile sits back again and kisses the tip of his cock.

“Were you getting excited there for a moment? Should I be flattered? I do not recall that you have ever been attracted to a woman.”

Miran opens his mouth. “Well... you are not a woman,” he says, and then nearly dies on the spot. Is that what Lucile meant? What if it’s not what he meant? He must sound like an idiot.

But Lucile just huffs out a laugh and kisses his cock again. He seems pleased. “Careful,” he says. “Any more of that sweet talk and I’ll start to think you have feelings for me.”

Miran opens his mouth to protest. It would be useless, for it is true - he does have feelings for Lucile. Even if they are for the most part hostile and the words he says have nothing to do with them, he does possess those feelings, and even the new - unfamiliar - _burning_ in his chest is becoming more easily recognizable, and somehow appealing, and...

Miran opens his mouth to protest, but all he manages is a sharp cry as Lucile takes him in as far as he can go before sliding rapidly back up again.

Lucile coughs around his cock. Once. Twice. His mouth is only partway down Miran’s shaft and the saliva he’d left further down is already cooling. It feels unbearable in contrast to the hotness of his breath, the wet warmth of his mouth, the warmth that he’s grown accustomed to and cannot stop thinking of, now that his cock is out -

He pulls back.

Miran blinks. “You’re _so_ excitable,” Lucile chides, and licks his lips. “I didn’t think it had been quite so long.”

“No, I... suppose it hasn’t.”

“Mm. Impatient, then?”

“N, no. Take as long as you like.”

He shouldn’t be offering himself like this, because there is still work to be done, and His Majesty has been ill-tempered as of late, and certainly Miran has no desire to contribute to his many headaches, but Lucile... Lucile is pressing his tits against his cock, again. Lucile is pressing his hands to the sides of those soft, round tits, pushing up so that they look rounder still as they glide along his shaft.

That mix of his own fluids and Lucile’s spit, it glistens when it’s streaked across his skin.

Miran is... transfixed. When Lucile pushes forward, he moves backwards to allow his gaze to follow the soft curves of his flesh and his hands. Lucile rolls his shoulders so that his arms push against his tits instead, allowing him to circle those elegant fingers around Miran’s tip.

He tips his head back with a groan and is surprised to find himself staring up at the ceiling. The edge of the desk is digging into the base of his spine. When had he leaned this far back? He groans and tries to push himself up on his elbows, only Lucile surges upwards and presses their bodies together, so that his breasts are flat against Miran’s chest, and their hips _should_ have been touching if not for... if not for - 

“You’re - you’re going to - ”

“Make a mess,” Lucile pants, and thrusts himself upwards again, climbing onto the desk. A strangled sound escapes Miran’s lips as Lucile’s belly rubs against his cock - a slow, smooth drag, a bit like at the very start, not of the fucking but of the intimacy, when Lucile switched from grinding his knee against Miran’s cock to stripping and pressing his bared thigh there instead…

Those tender memories make the kick that much more startling. Miran jolts; his arm spasms in such a way that sends several scrolls rolling to the floor. He looks down at his cock, at Lucile’s belly, and then up again to Lucile’s face - Lucile, who looks placid as ever, and far too calm, given that... that...? 

“It’s not so surprising, is it? It’s been so many months, after all,” Lucile says, and finishes crawling into his lap. Miran opens and closes his mouth soundlessly as Lucile pushes him down to the desk. “Haha... although the baby kicked a bit harder this time. Seems like quite the fighter. Or maybe he just wants to fight you?”

 _Already?_ Miran wants to tear at his hair, but he can’t seem to finish the question. Is it indignation that Lucile is already planning for this child’s future? Revulsion at the thought of the child _having_ a future? Is Miran insulted? Is he surprised? Is he, is he - 

Is he going to cum like this, rutting against Lucile’s pregnant belly, from those soft, silky hands and those small yet charming tits, from a feeling so different from the tight and sopping wet heat that so often clenches around him?

No, no. Not unless - not unless Lucile cums first, just from Miran’s hand, just from his skin. He slides his hand down, trying not to think about how a different man might choose to glide his palm down Lucile’s stomach instead, and touches between Lucile’s legs. He digs two fingers into the soft folds on either side of his slit, and slides them upwards to the clit to center himself - even if he cannot see for... for Lucile’s belly in the way, Miran is certainly capable of reaching all the places Lucile likes without looking, and - 

And there is another kick, this time against his arm. 

Miran barely stiffens, but that is only because he is screaming internally.

“Oh? You didn’t jump this time,” Lucile says, and moves his hips just a bit, rocking back and forth on Miran’s hand. Despite how slight the motion seems, it also serves to rock his belly against Miran’s cock. “You seem to be adjusting well.”

“I - that is - I shall not be distracted, Lucile Eris - ”

“Haha. Distracted from what, I wonder?”

Even though it is only two of his fingers… Miran still has to bite back a gasp when Lucile sinks down onto him. He’s so _tight_ , so good, and it’s been a long enough time since Miran’s fingered him that it’s nearly shocking. So he... he should make up for it, for his crime of unlearning all the cracks and crevices of Lucile’s infernally sculpted body...

He doesn’t so much thrust his fingers in and out as press them inside, curling and scissoring and twisting his wrist. When Miran hooks his fingers just so and turns his hand, Lucile makes a lovely sound and wriggles his way off of his fingers.

“You can lay down if you like,” he says, voice hushed, and then he pulls himself up and drops himself down on Miran’s cock.

Miran doesn’t lay down, but in a few moments - despite the teasing press of Lucile’s nipples against his skin - he’s wishing that he had. He can’t resist rocking upwards into Lucile’s cunt. He can’t resist either the relieved moans Lucile makes, or the ones that are nearly pained. He can’t resist it even as Lucile grabs his shoulders or tugs his hair or bites against his jawline. And he can’t resist it even when... even when it means that Lucile’s belly is pressed so close to his, when their entire bodies are pressed so close together, as if to become one beast that shall give birth to one monster, to share in this responsibility, together...?

Lucile shudders. His cunt squeezes and ripples around Miran’s cock, and then he is rising, so - 

Miran grabs his hips and pulls him back down. 

“A, ah?” His voice is a bit breathy, but not displeased. Miran closes his eyes and wonders at how different Lucile feels like this, when he is unseen. No, it’s more like the wonder is how it isn’t any different at all.

They keep going until those little aching sounds happen more often than the pleased ones, right up until the end when Miran cums inside. Lucile’s moan is - exaggeratedly long, then, and undeniably one of relief. When Miran pulls back ever so slightly, he does not even get up off of Miran’s cock, never mind his lap. He simply relaxes against Miran’s chest.

“...so you understood it, then?” Miran asks, but he has no idea why. Even he isn’t sure what he’s asking.

“Mm. I can guess. You didn’t want to get cum on the desk, right? Especially since you sent those scrolls flying... Haha.”

“...”

He’s, well, he's not wrong. On any other day, Miran would probably say something like that. And certainly it’s still true, because it’s always true. But right now, that still doesn’t feel like what he was thinking.

So what is it that he’s thinking? What is it that he needs to say to Lucile, here? Miran wracks his mind and can come up with nothing but crumbs and loose threads to spare. Maybe he can cobble them together into some sort of offering? He has succeeded thus far in his career for a reason, certainly - 

As if on cue, the baby starts kicking again.

Lucile laughs. “Maybe the poor thing is angry,” he says, “since you’ve tired me out so.” And maybe a few months ago something like that would have made Miran impossibly pleased, because it would have meant that he had posed that much of a challenge to this man, but right now, this feeling is...?

He waits for the baby to stop kicking, but it doesn’t happen soon enough, and instead it becomes far too uncomfortable to remain like that. They get up carefully, so as not to drip anywhere too inconvenient, and before he leaves Lucile pets his cheek. 

By then, Miran’s dropped the last threads of his thinking, so it doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t say anything.


	9. menagerie

He summons Lucile before him.

The act leans too much on Aslude's power for his tastes. But this is what Lucile has driven him to.

With that thought in mind, Sion really shouldn’t be surprised when Lucile does show. But at the same time, since it has been so long since he’s laid eyes on the man, it is still...

Sion's eyes flit to Lucile's belly. Of course they do. It's only natural, and yet the temperature in the throne room drops several degrees as soon as he does.

Questions fill his mind before the air in the room can settle. Is the chill down his spine from shock, or just the cold? How long has it been, really? Has Lucile been hiding from him, is that it? And is it his imagination, or is Lucile really that touchy about it...? 

The last one is answered easily. Sion rises from the throne and raises his hand ever so slightly, and the temperature drops again. So color him surprised, then. Or maybe he shouldn't be, considering the family history.

He lets his hand drop, but this is far from over.

"...Lucile," Sion says. "Care to explain?"

His tone is more obviously clipped than he'd meant for it to be. Lucile smiles, and it’s all teeth.

“Haha… shall I give you the talk, so to speak? And here I thought a ladykiller like you would be well-informed. Even so, that’s a task best left for your parents, isn’t it?”

Is he trying to talk like Sion…? It doesn’t suit him. But if he’s this aggressive already, it can only mean - well, a handful of things, really. But none of them are all that different.

“You’re well aware that I, like you, am an orphan,” Sion says instead. If Lucile wants to play that game, Sion can indulge him. “A self-made one, in part, not like yours in whole, but… it’s similar enough. As Ferris’s older brother, who stepped in to replace your parents, wouldn’t you have told her about such things? Or did you shirk that duty as well?”

There’s a strange heaviness to the silence. Lucile’s eyes are closed, but Sion gets the feeling that this is what it’s like to be looked at as an enemy.

Then,

“...so you do want me to give you that talk, Sion? Or should I call you Sion-chan? I am ever so flattered that you consider me like a brother…”

“Urgh. Is that why you hit on me back then?”

“Ha, haha.”

Lucile still seems hostile, somehow, despite how natural and relaxed his body seems. His stance, the slant of his shoulders, everything. And of course, that belly which makes it so hard to remember that he is monstrous, that he is threatening…

Sion coughs.

“...really. What were you thinking? I had thought…”

In some wild, sleepless delusion, Sion had wondered if it was part of some scheme. If perhaps it was some game that Duke Lieutolu was playing. He only knew bits and pieces of Lucile’s history with the man, but he could form a story from it, even if it was vague. And that story said that if anyone had a hidden motive for making monsters reproduce, it would be him, and Lucile would give him access no matter how reluctant, and then…

But of course Lucile would never want to shield him from anything like that, if it were so unpleasant. Of course. The one that Lucile is shielding is - 

“You care for it already,” Sion says, and frowns. “Lucile. There are - means - to deal with accidents. There was no need for you to - ”

“This child is no accident.”

Sion pauses. Swallows. For some reason, he thought - he thought - did his mother, perhaps, speak about him like this, even though having him ruined her life, and he became such a wretched being? He pushes the thought aside. It doesn’t matter. What matters is… is…

What matters is that Sion was wrong again. He finds himself resenting Lucile more and more for doing this to him.

“So you plotted this? You planned to get yourself knocked up?” His voice rises as he stops asking and starts demanding. “You schemed to undermine your king and god and throw the castle into turmoil, out of what? And you’re keeping it still - for what?”

“...you make it sound so nefarious,  _ Your Majesty _ ,” Lucile mocks. Always. Always, he is mocking Sion. “Is it so difficult to believe that I could desire a child simply for the sake of having one?”

“If you want a child, you already have Iris! Even if those other brats have fled the country, you could just go raid an orphanage! Do you know what people are  _ saying _ ?!”

It doesn’t matter what people are saying, not really. Some are downright giddy about it, even. It’s not distracting his allies that much more than the usual rumors, and it’s certainly not as if Lucile was ever a marriage prospect for an alliance, but - the  _ finality _ of it. The thought that it might become obvious that Lucile is more than just the king’s man.

It’s outrageous.

“I hear all words within the borders of this nation, Sion,” Lucile says. “Perhaps you ought to remember it.”

If Sion were in his office, he would throw his fucking inkwell at him, even knowing that Lucile would simply phase through it. But he’s not. He’s in his throne room, and there is nothing that he can throw at Lucile, and nothing that he can even kick discreetly. He can only bite his tongue to muffle a furious scream.

“Who the hell is the father, then? Does he know who you are?  _ What _ you are? Does he really think that it’s alright to let you have a baby?” 

Lucile doesn’t jolt, but he has other tells. They’re barely there. They’re not even visible. It’s in the air. Maybe they aren’t tells at all, but rather some sort of soul-deep understanding between Aslude and the part of Lucile that once was the demon Eris. But Sion  _ knows _ all the same that he has struck something.

So he keeps pushing.

“It’s probably easy for you to deceive someone. But I can’t imagine that you’d go to such efforts. And I can’t imagine any man willing to let you have that child, either, knowing what you are. Did you kill the father, then? Is that why I haven’t heard anything? Or is he still out there somewhere, desperately trying to commit treason against the state by killing the king’s right-hand man, and the leech inside him?”

For a moment, Sion thinks that a boulder has slammed into him; the next, he is seated on his throne, wheezing. 

There was no impact. Nothing hurts. There is no dust or dirt or blood on the front of his robes. He’s just… had the wind knocked out of him. Like when Ferris swung her sword hard enough for the air to cut a tree several meters away... 

Ugh, Erises.

“That’s no way to talk to such a young child,” Lucile croons, and Sion shivers.

“...you say that as if it can hear me,” Sion mutters, and then, horrified, “wait, how far along are you? Wait, even if it can hear me it can hardly understand - ”

“We Erises are a unique breed,” Lucile says, “though it’s possible the child will inherit his father’s stupidity… haha. Still, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Past… who? Who does he mean? The  _ baby _ ? And how could Lucile possibly know its gender, anyways? Sion has a headache the size of a foothill and rapidly growing. 

He rubs his temple and sighs. Closes his eyes, too, because he doesn’t want to see Lucile leave, or when he does. It’s not like it’d be an indicator of which words actually made their mark.

“...Lucile,” he says. It’s not a plea. Even if it were, Sion knows no other way to say this. “Get rid of that. You’re not… you can’t bring a child into the world just to dump it in an orphanage somewhere, and you’re certainly… I mean, look at Ferris and Iris. You can’t seriously want to repeat any of that…”

Silence. Is he gone already? Sion doesn’t want to know, so he moves his hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. This way, he can’t look.  He really can’t look.

“You can’t… you can’t mean to keep it, seriously, it’d be kinder to just kill a child like that instead of letting it be born and grow to learn its own nature… Lucile, are you listening to me?”

Silence, again.

Sion could push his luck. He could make it an order. In the end, he doesn’t think Lucile can disobey him, even if he wanted it… even if he seriously wanted that baby enough to prioritize it over the rest of the world with Ferris and Iris still in it. Sion can’t imagine it, personally. Just try again if you really need, right?

He could make it an order. But he doesn’t.

And Sion wants to think that it means something to Lucile, too, that he doesn’t.

-

Iris hears it from Sion first, which is kind of disappointing, even if her amazing big sister who is always right about everything says that it's best to never talk to their big bro, or even see him at all!

But! Wow! A baby! Iris is going to be an auntie!

This is definitely an exception to big sister's rules, right? It's a baby after all! So exciting!

Iris had been a bit confused when sis had mentioned men getting pregnant, because Iris had never seen a man with a baby belly before! A jiggly turkey belly, sometimes, but not a big round baby belly! But now big bro has one! Amazing! Of course Iris's incredible big sister was right on the money!

So, so if it's a baby, then it should be fine to approach, right?

"B, big brother! Honorable eldest brother!" Iris can't say she's not nervous, though. This is a serious mission, after all! Maybe even the most important, high-stakes mission aside from dango delivery… Iris has to steel herself and be brave, just like big sis would!

For such an important mission, there's probably a better way to go about it than running around hallways and shouting for him to appear, though…

"Big brother! Iris needs to see you! Big brother, please! Pleaaaase pretty please, Iris won't even bring frogs into the kitchens for - for a week!" That's a whole week, you know?!

"But what if I said I didn't mind frogs in the kitchens, little Iris?"

Iris gasps and whirls around, but no one's there. No, wait - aw, she checked the ceiling the way people always forgot to when it was her up there, and Lucile wasn't there, either…

"Big bro!" She stamps her foot. "Stop being a dis, dis-um, unbody voice! Get down here! Or up here! Iris wants to see you! Iris wanna! Iris wanna!"

"Oh, is it want, now? Here I thought you said 'need'."

Gyah! Her big brother is so frustrating! Iris stamps her foot again for good measure. 

"Brotheeeeeeerrrrrrrr - "

"Coming, coming," the voice replies, as if Iris hasn't seen him appear out of thin air before, easy as pie. But to Iris's surprise, she actually sees him making it up the stairs this time!

And she sees the baby belly heaving, too!

"Wah! Big bro! You gotta be careful with that!" Iris bounds to his side and latches onto his arm, supporting him as he crosses the last two steps. "Big bro! At least use the handrail, geez!"

Her big brother smiles down at her, and it's just then that Iris realizes - she's touching him! Holding him, even! Big sister would  _ freak _ !

But, nothing bad is happening, and Iris was gonna touch him anyway if he let her, so…

"Big bro! Iris, um, Iris had a question juuuust for you!"

"Oh? And what might this question be, to require my physical presence…"

Um, what? She didn't know that word. Well, whatever. "Iris wants to, Iris wants to touch your belly! Big bro, can Iris touch your belly?"

Lucile is giving her the softest smile she's ever seen, and it doesn't even feel threatening. Iris can't help but smile back, although her heart is pounding - wait! Maybe it's only pounding because she's gonna be an auntie, and not because of anything bad or scary! Yeah! How nice is that? Is this the power of baby? Babies sure are wonderful, huh?

"Iris, of course you can touch it," Lucile says, "but…"

"But…?"

"If you'd like a surprise, touch when I say, okay?" 

Iris is nodding before she realizes. After a couple handfuls of seconds pass, though, she's starting to get bored.

"...hm. Perhaps my mother's instincts aren't as sharp as they could be," Lucile says.

Is it a joke? It had better be. "No way, big bro! If they aren't, you have to train! Train to become super mama, and Iris will become super auntie - oh, but big sis will be the best auntie, of course."

Her big brother twitches, then smiles again. "In that case," he says, "Iris. You may touch it now."

Her hand is on his belly, rubbing, before he finishes the sentence. It's not as impressive as it could be since he talks way slower than Iris, but still! She's excited! And -

Iris gasps. 

"The baby, the baby is kicking! The baby is kicking Iris?! Ah?! Does it want to fight? Wow, it's training already!"

Her big brother laughs. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's just excited to meet you, Iris."

"Wow! Iris is really excited to meet you too, little - oh, big bro, is Iris gonna have a niece or a nephew?"

He shrugs. "There's no way to know for certain, but I did a knot charm, and it said a boy…"

Um, a knot charm… Iris had no idea her big brother liked that kind of thing. Could it be that he's kind of… gullible? What if he still believed in the tooth fairy? What if he was going to fall for con men selling poor-quality dango? But, at the same time... wasn’t there some saying about mother’s instincts and whatever? It was in a book, she thinks! A lot of books, actually! But, oh, Lucile had said it himself just now that his weren't so sharp!

Um, um, Iris is confused, but still! This settles it, then!

"Iris will help protect the baby! And, Iris will protect big brother, too!"

Her big brother smiles and pets her head. Wow! Iris thought her big brother only ever smiled when he cried, but he’s not crying this time! It’s not scary at all!

“Good girl, Iris,” he says, and Iris beams.

“Good auntie, Iris!” she cheers for herself, and thinks  _ good mama, Lucile _ , because if charms are real and the child is a boy, maybe this will also be true.

-

The next time Calne drops in on Eslina, he's delighted to find that she and Iris are having another tea party.

It's so convenient. Such perfect timing. Maybe it's a sign!

Eslina gives him a look when he opens his mouth, though, so he waits until she mulls it over in her mind and decides he and whatever he's planning is harmless. She pokes Iris to get her attention, and then the kid actually pulls out a chair for him. Isn't that adorable?

It almost makes him feel bad for how he's about to grill her. Almost.

"Hey there, little Iris!" Calne says, making sure to give his best harmless smile. Iris smiles back.

"Hey there, Miss! Iris doesn't know your name!"

Miss…?

"This is Calne, Iris," Eslina says, and steps on his foot under the table. Totally unnecessary. He hadn't even opened his mouth yet!

"Calne? Calne-nee? Ne-nee! Ne-nee!"

"I'm not - " Calne starts to correct her, but stops short. It's more at the look on Eslina's face than at the way she's grinding her heel into his toes. She's right, it'd be a shame. Eslina's always right about these things. Besides, Iris is a cute kid. He'd hate to let her down… well, over something like this, at least.

"So, girl talk! Girl talk! I hear there's romance in the air," Calne chirps, and waggles his eyebrows. Iris giggles and throws a biscuit at him, which bounces off his cheek to land on his plate.

"Romance, romance! Who does Ne-nee mean?"

...does she not know…? He exchanges looks with Eslina. Luckily, before they think to say anything, Iris starts rambling.

From the shocked look on Eslina's face, she had no idea about all her fellow servants affairs - unless Iris is making it all up, but she is an Eris after all, and he's seen her crawling along the ceiling before. No one ever thinks to look up. He can definitely imagine her all starry-eyed, staring down as some servants swoon over each other and declare undying love.

...but that's not the important part here, even if he does file all this information away for further investigation! But Calne's not so mean as to interrupt this kid  _ too _ obviously. He shoves the biscuit from before into his mouth and pretends to choke on it.

Unfortunately, Iris decides to be a hero about it.

"Ne-nee! Never fear, for Iris will save you!" she cries, and twirls over the table to kick him in the gut.  _ Hard _ . He sprays bits of biscuit all over the table and totally embarrasses himself in front of Eslina! She's not even generous enough to make her grossed-out face subtle. The world is so mean.

"...Th, thanks, Iris," Calne manages in between wheezes and gasps. Iris beams. 

"Of course, Ne-nee! Iris is a hero, after all! Iris will save you anytime!"

Any time…? If it's like this, then he sure hopes not.

But, back on topic.

"Thank you, Iris," Calne says, and then leans in. "For the girl talk as well… I had no  _ idea _ that the cook had snagged a nobleman!" Though it was really more likely to be the nobleman's butler. Most of them were far classier than their employers. "But I heard that someone in the castle's having a  _ baby _ , do you know anything about that…?"

Little Iris gasped and Eslina kicked him under the table. Oh boy, did she really not know yet? But - 

"Are you the babymama, Ne-nee?!"

...Huh?

Her voice came out in a hushed shriek. "Big brother is having a baby! But no one's talking about it! But you do! So, so are you the one that gave him the baby, Ne-nee?"

What…

"N, no, of course not, why would you think that? After all, I'm… a woman…" His laugh was too startled to be convincing, which probably added to her belief. But more importantly - 

_ Who the heck taught this kid the word 'babymama' in the first place?! _

"Well, Iris has the most amazing sister who is the bestest and smartest  _ ever _ and she says that normally you need one man and one woman to make a baby, and the woman keeps it in her belly after the man gives it to her, but men can get pregnant like big brother! Which means that a woman gave him the baby and he keeps it in his belly, right? And you're the only lady who's asked, so - !"

Oh lord. What had he gotten himself into.

Calne shot an accusing glare at Eslina. If not for her, then he would have corrected Iris to start with, and he wouldn't be in this mess!

"Are you going to get  _ married _ , Ne-nee?! Iris wants to be the flower girl! Wait! No! Iris will be the ringbearer! Wait! No! Iris will be  _ both! _ Iris has two hands! Iris can stand on her hands, even! So Iris can definitely, definitely carry flowers and a ring at the same time - "

When he moves to get up and leave, Eslina kicks him in the shin. Hard. Calne looks over and she's barely holding in giggles, so he resigns himself to being her laughingstock for the day.


	10. ferris

Uncharacteristically, Ryner is the one that knocks on her door in the morning.

Ferris yawns as soon as she opens the door, but not because she's tired or anything. It's just to rub it in his face how she gets to sleep in and he doesn't.

He frowns, but not in the way Ferris expected. It's grimmer than that.

"Letters from Roland," Ryner says, and he honestly sounds kind of... snippy? Is he being snippy with her? "There's one from Sion addressed to you, specifically."

Oh. So he was jealous, then? 

"Well, what are you waiting for? Open it."

"...it says 'for Ferris Eris's eyes ONLY' on it." He waved it in front of her and she seriously considered grabbing her sword just to hit him with it. She'd stopped sleeping with it in her hand, since knives and dango skewers worked just fine, but...

Ferris yawned again. Louder this time. Ryner's eye twitched even at a time like this, hehe.

"So?" she asked. "Since when have we cared about Sion's personal boundaries? It's not like Sion's ever cared about _ours_. Read it anyways, it's too early for me to use my imagination."

"Huh?"

Mm, going from his fancy clothes and neat hair, Ryner had obviously been up for a while before her. But he was still this slow, huh...

"There's this Sion voice I imagine whenever I read any of his letters," she said. "So you should do your best."

Ryner made a face. It was a face that hinted intimately of his crimes - his crimes of doing the same, except that his internal Sion voice was probably way sappier than hers. Wait. 

She could totally narrate a fake letter...! Why hadn't she thought of that already? Hmm. If sleeping in made Ferris this much slower despite all her training... wow, so she was totally right to wake Ryner all those times! She would have to up the ante now that he had actual responsibilities, though. Prepare to be bullied harder than ever - !

Ferris made a grab for the letter, but perhaps sensing her intentions, Ryner held it above their heads and out of her reach. She seriously considered skewering it.

"Why so impatient? What, do you want me to do charades too?"

Ryner may have been a grump and a wet blanket on this particular fine mor... afternoon, but he still possessed the mind of an excellent partner in crime. That'd be pretty funny. Hilarious, even. They could drape a blanket over him and pretend it was Sion's dumb cloak, and maybe stick Vois in a cage and have him play Sion's dog. He had the hair for it.

Still, Ryner had made that grim face, so. "Maybe later," Ferris decided. "Just read it to me for now."

"...it does say 'for Ferris Eris's eyes only', you know - "

"I know, I know, you _said_." She crossed her arms to show that she wasn't going to whap him upside the head just yet, and also to sneakily tug a knife from her sleeve. "If Sion thinks I wouldn't just turn around and tell you anyways then he's being dumb. So either he deserves it for being so dumb or he's messing with you."

After a moment, just to make sure Ryner got the message - Ferris was embarrassed to admit it, since they were friends, but he _was_ pretty dense - she said, "He's totally just messing with you."

"That bastard," Ryner said, but he did relax a bit. "When'd you get your degree in Sion psychology anyways?"

When Kiefer started sneaking self-help books into her stash of thief and detective erotica. "Excuse you? I am a _genius_ , unlike you, you dunce. You absolute buffoon."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryner said, and then, "Oh. Wait. Good news or bad news?"

"...Aren't you supposed to ask that first?" Ferris wasn't sure what kind of face she was making, but she was sure that it properly conveyed the message of ' _You idiot. You absolute buffoon_ ' because Ryner looked suitably embarrassed. "Well, Sion's always the bad news, so. Good news first. Gimme gimme."

"It's just a stack of drawings from Iris," Ryner warned. "She didn't even write anything this time."

Yeah, probably to avoid causing an international incident with pregnant Sion jokes again. That had been hilarious, sure, but given the hours of public image lectures from Vois of all people, also definitely not worth it.

"Did you go through my innocent little sister's sketchbook? Shame on you," Ferris said, but she was already reaching for it. As always, even the cover had been scribbled on...

Iris was a good kid, huh?

She flipped the cover up, and paused.

"...Ryner, I need a second opinion."

"Huh? Sure."

"Do you think that's supposed to be my brother? Maybe she made a new friend who coincidentally has the same hair as him?"

Ryner squinted.

"Uhh," he said. Very intelligently. Truly Spelliyet's second greatest magician. 

"Ryner, you've gotten a good look at my brother before, right? After all, you two, in the dojo...!"

"Gyah!" He reddened truly rapidly. Perhaps even faster than Kiefer used to do when he got too close. It just fueled her suspicions of a dramatic king-king-bodyguard entanglement. "He was trying to kill me, Ferris!"

"Hm, his face was awfully close for a platonic murder," Ferris said. Nevertheless, she flipped to the next page - Ryner was too busy muttering 'platonic murder' under his breath to give useful input. And she had to pause again here, because...

"I can't believe it," Ferris snarled. "That bastard. All this time criticizing my dango diet and he has the nerve to go and get fat!"

"Oh, so you're sure it's Lucile, then."

"Of course it is. Look at his face!"

Ryner squinted.

"So he has blue eyes too, huh? Wait, are you sure?"

"Ah?" Now that Ferris thought about it, how long had it been since she'd seen his eyes? Maybe they turned red or something from his blood-dango diet. "What do you mean, did you see his eyes glow rainbow the last time he was romantically strangling you or something?"

"N, no!" Ryner was even redder now. Redder than Kiefer's new miniskirt, even. "I just meant, why would Iris draw him with his eyes open! He probably doesn't have annoying color-changing eyes like Tiir or Enne... I think."

Ferris scoffed. "Please," she said. "As if anyone else can make a face like this, eyes open or not!"

"...it's not like Iris has the most realistic art style, so I don't - eek! Where did you get that knife from?! It, it's a good thing! We've been to museums, all those realism paintings are super boring! Stylized is the way to go! Iris is going to take the art world by storm! Eeeeeek!"

Satisfied, Ferris let him go. Then she turned the page.

"...alright, that... _can't_ be Lucile," Ferris said, though her brain was twisting itself into knots and her stomach was backflipping. "Iris would never draw him three times in a row, and Iris would especially never have a tea party with him and Noa… Sion must have kidnapped another princess that happens to look a lot like him, or something. A fat princess who clearly doesn't subscribe to the recommended dango diet." She squinted. "Or a pregnant one? I wonder. Maybe, maybe those devil horns are actually curls, like Enne's. Maybe her hairstyle is catching on. But she said she was from Runa, right? Or was it Cassla... Hey, Ryner, it can't be that Runan princess unless she dyed her hair, but did Cassla have any pretty maidens?"

"Why would you expect me to remember? It's been, like, years since we've been there. Also, that's Eslina. Noa's got blue hair."

"No, I would never forget a princess's name," Ferris dismissed. "You must have gotten them mixed up, Ryner. But it's understandable just this once, since they're always together anyways."

"...sure," Ryner said. Then Ferris flipped the page.

It was Lucile after all!?

"Did he swallow a puppy!?" Ferris shouted. She was appalled. Aghast. Shocked and upset. Even though she was a magnificent swordswoman capable of saving ten thousand, no, ten _hundred_ thousand puppies from plummeting into an active volcano, she couldn't save one from plummeting down her brother's greedy gullet...!

"I'm going to have nightmares," Ryner agreed. "But, wait, maybe Iris is just punching his belly instead?"

"No, no! If that was the case Iris would draw spiky explosions around the point of impact! This is Iris after all! But instead... no, no, his belly is definitely shaking on its own because he swallowed some poor animal whole! These are lines that say, 'tremble, tremble', you fool!"

"Maybe he's dancing...? And, and why would Iris look so happy if he really ate a puppy!"

Ferris's mind whirled. "M, maybe it's a prank!" she shouted.

"A prank?! Oh, that'd be a relief - "

"Yes! Iris must have filled his tea with frogs, and so there are many frogs making a home in his belly, and also jumping up out of his mouth whenever he opens it to speak!"

"G-guwahhh?!? That's not the prank I was expecting!"

She whapped him as an outlet for her relief, and then laughed. She laughed for quite a while.

"...Ryner," she said. "Iris may have... created the Necronomicon."

"Y, yeah."

Ferris put down the sketchbook carefully, then walked over to her closet.

"Ah? What's with this... so sudden. If you're changing, I can leave, you know - "

"I'm not changing," Ferris said, and pulled out her sword.

"...h, hey," Ryner said, and swallowed audibly. "What's that for?"

"I said good news first, Ryner," Ferris said, giving her sword a few good swings to test how it felt when she was wearing her swishy new nightdress instead of another outfit she had. The answer was 'very nice, actually'. Swish, swish. "Tell me. In what world is the Necronomicon considered good news?"

"Now hold on a sec! There's no way I could have known, and - "

"Ryneeerrrrrr!"

"GYAHHH!!!"

  
_BA☆BAAM!!!_

Ferris beamed, triumphant. She let out a soft 'heh'. Then another, and another.

"Heh, heh... eheheheh!"

Ryner was bent around her armchair in a truly comedic fashion. She was a genius. She should become a talk show host. Heh, heh heh!

"Even as a king, why should I have to suffer such abuse..."

"It's to balance the collective karma of kings. Sion is driving you guys into debt, after all," Ferris explained. "Anyways, letter."

"Huh?"

"Sion's letter. Aren't you going to read it now...?" 

She hefted her sword over her shoulder. The afternoon sun cast a dramatic shadow across Ryner's terrified face. Heh, heheheheh!

"Gyahhh! I got it, I got it!" He made a wild scramble for the letter, which had fallen to the floor at some point. To be helpful, she threw a knife - he could cut the ribbon and seal with it! But as always, her charity and generous character went unnoticed.

"D, damnit! Ferris, that could have taken my finger off!"

"Collective karma of kings," she repeated. "It just means Sion must have written something worthy of getting his fingers chopped."

Ryner grimaced, but opened the letter anyways. He cleared his throat to begin his dramatic narration, but as soon as he opened his eyes, he froze.

"...uhhh," he said.

"What is it _now_?"

"You, you should really read this yourself," Ryner said, looking vaguely ill. "I think he might be collaborating with Iris to create the Necronomicon for real... I hope she's getting paid for those illustrations, geez."

"Ah? Just burn it, then. Or read it so that it entertains me, at least. Your eyes might boil, but plenty of people will volunteer to be your sight..."

"No, no," Ryner interrupted, "he might... not be lying. It sounds serious for sure."

"Is this part of the production? You should go into theater," Ferris told him, but she stepped over to see for herself anyways. Her head started hurting from the pretentiousness oozing off of Sion's handwriting long before the words actually processed in her head...

...

_Ferris, has your brother mentioned anything to you about his pregnancy?_

_..._

"Ryner," Ferris said.

...

"You said good news or bad news first, right?"

...

"It's _bad news or bad news_ , you idiottt!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if u wanted more angst but it just seemed like such a good stopping point that it became a total comedy chapter instead. wahaha. comedy before the storm


	11. ferris & kiefer

Is it...

Is it really okay to leave it like this...?

Her brother is pregnant. How did that happen? How the hell did that happen?

If... if Ferris had heard that he'd had a baby, she would have assumed that he'd stolen it from somewhere, or worse, happened across a woman that looked too much like her or something... maybe even someone who looked like Iris. But he always stayed inside. At least, that's what she thought, before...

He'd gotten pregnant. Lucile had gotten pregnant. He hadn't stolen a baby from somewhere; it was growing in his belly.

How... how did that happen?

It was... It was Lucile they were talking about here, right...?

She wondered if he'd done it to try to make himself seem like less of a threat. But if he was even capable of getting lonely in the first place... if he was that lonely, then why resort to something like...

...Seriously. And, and... who was the father?!

Well, maybe there was a mother after all, but she'd only read a few stories where men got pregnant, and in all but one of them the other parent had been a man as well. So it was probably.... her big brother had probably gotten some guy to put a baby in himm, right?

Was it Sion? Was that why he was writing? Was this some sort of call for help? But, well... after everything that happened, she couldn't say that they didn't deserve each other. If that was the case.

Who knew what the case really was anymore?

Her brother... was having a baby. Something hot flared in her chest, just below her sternum, like she was going to be sick. It was... a baby. Was it going to be, like, a normal baby? Was it capable of that? It would be Lucile's child, after all. What if... what if it came out of the belly clutching its own umbilical cord like a whip and, and snarling or something? What if it had fangs?

No, no, that wasn't fair. Just because it's parent was a monster didn't have to mean anything. But... but...!

Even if Lucile had forced some stranger to put a baby in him, somehow, as long as it was a man... no, but, that wasn't right. There'd have to be a reason for it. Lucile wouldn't choose some stranger. There'd have to be a reason, whether it was... a family resemblance, or something else...

Unless, like she'd thought earlier, the baby really was just to get her and Iris closer to him. But if that was the case then why should he think to resort to something so drastic?! He could just... he could just ask to have dango together, couldn't he...?

Nothing here... nothing here was right. It was a child. A baby. It... it wasn't like she thought he'd eat the baby or anything, probably, but...

Growing up, there had been a time where her brother was good, and she'd run to him at any time of day, and he'd been so careful until he left Iris to her and stopped being her brother entirely. So... would he do the same with that child? Was he going to care for it and then abandon it, or was he going to pawn it off on her or - worse, Iris - from the start? What if... what if...

There were fingers scrabbling at the back of her mind that she hadn't noticed for a long time. At least, she'd tried not to notice for a long time. It was an itch that she couldn't scratch. It was the jaw of her father, even if she couldn't remember his eyes. It was her mother's head, but just the upper left side as her scalp dangled from Lucile's mouth by some red, red hair. A stranger's hair. And...? And...

What was it her father had said? What were the words he had said, to make Ferris wonder... to wonder - 

Was... Lucile had promised to never lay a hand on her or Iris, even if that had been blatantly false and he'd beat her black and blue during straining. But, um... he... he'd never make a promise like that about someone who didn't exist, right? Was...

Was he going to make a promise like that when the child was born, or...

She didn't feel well. She wanted dango. She wanted Wynnit dango. No, she wanted the recipe that some little kid had shoved at her some time ago. How many years was it, now...? What was it, again...? There had been some red bean, right, but he'd said it was unfinished... who was it? Who was it? Was it Arua? Did Iris rope Arua into helping her in the kitchen? 

Ferris almost wanted to go down the hall and ask, but if it wasn't, then that'd probably... be... well, he was just a little kid, even if Ryner was already training him up to be a pervert and a prince.

Was it one of Toale's kids, then? Ibel or Telua, maybe? No, it had been a boy. Probably. Because she'd remembered comparing him to her brother for some reason.

Looking back at it, Iris had probably meant to draw dango inside Lucile's belly, rather than a frog. But would the baby really be able to eat dango? Was it just going to eat people like its mother? Was it, um... was it going to be like Tiir, who said he'd ate his mom as he was born? It, it might be a relief if that was the case. She could ask him for details. Maybe there was a way to make it happen. He'd said that god made it happen, right? And Ryner had killed a god before, so... yeah! Ryner could blackmail a god into... um... um...

What was she thinking? If she wanted to kill her brother so bad she should do it herself instead of -

"...Ferris."

She didn't even swing her sword, but he still twitched as she lifted her head towards him.

"Ah?"

"Um... you don't look so good. Are you... having a dango deficiency, maybe...?"

Deficiency? Sure. She had a lot of deficiencies. Dango wasn't one of them, but it should be amazing enough to make up the difference, and overflow to fill up all the other deficiencies...! After all, she'd survived on a dango diet for this long. That's right. Dango would fix this. But not just any dango. It'd have to be the holiest of dango, sent by the Dango God.

"Ryner. ...tell Vois to have Wynnit dango open a shop here, in Spelliyet...! No, not just one shop, but an entire division... I don't care if he has to bribe or blackmail or kill to get them over here, but it has to be Wynnit...! It has to be Wynnit, do you understand, Rynerrr!"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I get it."

Obviously he didn't. But Ryner pet her head like he did. He pet her head like Lucile used to and like he should have kept on doing instead of going away somewhere and letting something else take his place. Ryner pet her head the way a good brother should, and... why? Why did her brother have to be Lucile? Why did he have to be like this? And why did he have to...

Why did he have to have a baby? If he didn't, then Iris wouldn't send these pictures. She'd draw herself with both Eslina and Noa at the tea party instead. She'd draw herself putting frogs in Sion's tea, and hiding them amongst his crumpets and chocolate boxes, thus ruining the latest of Ryner's many make-up plans. And Sion would be writing to her about that instead, instead of stamping "Ryner Don't Look" on a letter about her brother's pregnancy of all things. 

What was she supposed to do?

What was she supposed to  _ do _ ?

"Maybe if you have some dango you'll calm down..." Ryner tried to tell her, but she just threw her pillow at him. She was in a bad mood.

"I said it has to be Wynnit, didn't I?!"

"R, right... Wynnit dango. Um, which flavor, exactly?"

"Don't care! House special, red bean, cherry snowflake - anything's fine! But it has to be Wynnit...!"

She knew it was unfair to say something like that. Ryner couldn't make Wynnit materialize even as a king, though Sion probably could, especially if he'd threatened to dematerialize it so easily. Yeah, Sion and Lucile were definitely suited for her. She almost hoped it was Sion's baby. Then there could be some sort of explanation under everything, instead of... instead of everything else that just gave her a headache.

-

"Why would you expect me to know Wynnit's house special dango recipe?" Kiefer asked. She tried to make her face as appalled as possible, hoping that Ryner would assume he violated some secret spy code and would back off and leave her alone. Even though she'd confessed to Ryner ages ago, an old wound was still that; a wound. He could stand to be a little more delicate about asking her for help with other women, couldn't he? 

"You're a spy," Ryner said, a bit despairingly. "If you don't know, then I'll - then I'll have to ask Vois."

_ Then ask him _ , Kiefer wanted to say, except while Ryner definitely deserved all the hell that little brat gave him, Ferris... probably didn't. She was a cute girl, really. The only thing she did wrong was getting tangled up in Ryner and Sion's... affair.

"You could stand to do a little legwork yourself," she grumbled, but Ryner gave her a pleading look. It never used to work on her. What did it mean, that it did now? "Fine, fine. Give me a few days."

"But we don't have a few days," Ryner moaned. "Ferris is upset now. Like, really upset. She even threw her dango plush at me!"

Kiefer blinked.

"Did you try giving her, say, fifty boxes of dango or so?"

"She rejected them!"

"Even the honey red-bean flavor?"

"She said Wynnit only!"

Well, that did sound pretty serious, then. "A few hours," Kiefer said. "I'm not a miracle-worker, you know."

"No, you're definitely not a miracle-worker," Ryner said, agreeing way too easily for her tastes. "You're more like... God?"

Kiefer turned away to hide her flushing cheeks. Unlike Ferris, whose pale skin turned such a charming, rosy shade of pink, she got all blotchy and it clashed horribly with her hair. 

_ If I was God, then I would definitely... _

She coughed to bring herself out of her thoughts. "Wh, whatever! Just go wait for me in the kitchen."

Wynnit had, despite everything, become a rather well-known brand. Ryner and Ferris didn't seem to realize it, but they were rather famous figures... or perhaps infamous was more fitting. In any case, it didn't take too long to find someone who'd tasted the dango, someone who could identify ingredients from taste alone, someone who could supply some of the more Roland-specific ingredients...

Well. It didn't take too long for a girl of her caliber, at least! Hehe. She could allow herself at least that much pride in her abilities.

Having rounded up her troops, she marched to the kitchen. Ryner had fallen asleep on the counter, but woke up quickly enough when she kicked the stool out from under his ass.

"Bwugh! Wh... why so many people?!"

"Oh, sorry, did you want to make her fifty boxes of dango on your own?" Kiefer was unimpressed. "That's not going to happen within the day. I brought help."

"W, well... I was thinking that it'd be a gift from just the two of us? Because, well, Ferris would say something about the love in dango, and she knew the Wynnit stall owners pretty well, but these people are just strangers..."

Just the two of them, huh...?

Kiefer shook her head to clear out any wild thoughts that might be growing. "Nope! If you want enough dango to cheer up the dango princess, you'll need at least this many people. How long do you think that much dango takes to make?!"

"C, can we at least make a first batch to bring up to her? I don't think she's eaten at all today."

Hmm. Ryner was trying awfully hard to get Kiefer alone, huh... Bad thoughts! Bad! It seemed that the seeds of some ridiculous theories had taken root after all.

"Fine," Kiefer snapped, and threw an apron and sack of beans at him. "We'll go make a small platter in that corner, and they'll work on the boxes over there! Come on! You heard the man, let's get going!"

The kitchen was pretty conveniently... no, inconveniently structured! There were ovens lined up all along one wall, and on the opposite wall, a single oven in an alcove of sorts... so she and Ryner were way closer than her heart could stay calm about! They even bumped elbows while mixing the flour and shaping the dough...

"...Kiefer."

Ryner... had stopped. But she didn't want to hear whatever he had to say, so she reached for another handful of dough...

But then he grabbed her wrist.

"..."

"Kiefer... I know this isn't fair to you, but I need to ask you something serious..."

W-w-w-w-what was this?!?!

Her mouth fell open. Whatever she wanted to say just wouldn't come out.

Ryner's eyes were... really serious...!

"Kiefer, do you..."

Her breath caught in her throat. The way that he was staring at her was just too much!

"...know who might have knocked Ferris's brother up?"

Ah.

Uh.

Huh?

Ferris's…  _ brother _ ?

She'd thought Sion had been an exception, but maybe Ryner really was gay?! Wait, no, keep calm. Keep calm, Kiefer!

"Um… I thought that magic was still in its experimental stages? Oh, unless…" 

Ryner blushed. "H, huh?! What magic?! What magic, Kiefer!!"

"..."

S-so… it looked like Sion hadn't told him anything…?

"...well, one of the spells that Roland's research facilities was working on was, um, trying to… you know, change a person's body, like…"

It was horribly vague. Roland was absolutely up to the neck in human experiments. But if Kiefer had to think too hard about Ryner with tits and hips then she might just combust, so hopefully he'd get the message.

"Uh? Like… like how, exactly… there's a lot of ways to, to change…"

...Ugh!

He clearly got it, so why was he acting like he didn't?! Stupid, stupid Ryner! Well, two could play at this game!

"You know how Sion kept coming up with excuses to put you in dresses and call you Reyna?"

"...!!! I didn't realize you knew about that, Kiefer…!"

What the hell? Wasn't he the one always going on about her omniscience as a spy? She gave him her best unimpressed look, and he wilted.

"Ah, but… well, it doesn't matter anyways! Because, because Lucile is… like, weird. As in 'gods and demons' weird, not Vois-weird. So… so that's not relevant!"

Oh, right, they were talking about Ferris's brother.

"This is why Ferris is upset, huh…? I thought they weren't that close, though?"

Ryner blinked, which was cute, especially with flour on his face. "Uhhh," he said. "They're not, really."

Kiefer  _ huh _ ed. If they weren't, then why did it matter who had knocked him up? Wait, unless…!

She looked at Ryner again. Poor, oblivious Ryner, who wasn't actually so much oblivious as really really in denial. So this was why he was asking…!

"Do you… have suspicions about the father…?"

Ryner busied himself with the dango flour again. "Uh, not particularly… I was just, you know, wondering… since he's kind of a shut-in and all…"

Oh, Ryner. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. It had nothing to do with getting more flour on him so he'd stop looking like he walked out of one of Ferris's romantic dramedies.

"If he's that much of a shut-in, then the candidate pool must be pretty small," she said. 

"W, well, who knows…"

Wait, what was she doing? Trying to coax him never worked. She had learned that in the academy, hadn't she? 

She took a deep breath.

"Ryner," she said, and fixed him with a stern enough gaze to make him go 'eep'! "If you're worried about Sion cheating on you… well, he has already cheated on you!!"

"Gyah?!"

"He got a secretary named Fiole a long time ago… over three years back by now, I believe."

"S-secretary?! Like in p-plotless soap operas!?"

Close call, Ryner! But Kiefer knew he was about to say 'porn'! After all, she too had seen Ferris's impressive collection…!

"Exactly, Ryner." Kiefer slammed her palm on the table, making him jump. "But unlike in those p-plotless soap operas, Sion had a deep emotional bond with Fiole! He even listened when Fiole told him to take breaks from doing paperwork, you know?"

"Wh, what! She, she sounds totally scary… wait, did you say had?"

Oh, so Ryner was trying to spin it like that, huh? Well, Kiefer wasn't about to let him run from the truth!

"Fiole was a man! A gentle and nurturing man! So much that Sion, a self-proclaimed straight man,"  _ hah,  _ "was willing to cross the boundaries of sex and gender to be with him."  _ Like with you _ , Kiefer didn't need to say. Ryner was paling rapidly.

"But…! But you said h-had just now, right…? You definitely said 'had'!"

Still trying to hide, huh, Ryner? Well, too bad! Kiefer was going to drag him out of his dark corner and force him to face the truth.

"Yes… but not because either of them ended things," she said, lowering her voice. "Fiole was… assassinated to get to Sion… but then Sion threatened those nobles into submission at swordpoint and had Fiole buried on the castle grounds."

"N, no… on royal grounds…"

"Yes. And he still visits Fiole's grave regularly, I hear… so, Ryner. Do you understand what this means?"

"F, Fiole is still making him take breaks from beyond the grave…"

Huh? Well, uh, yeah. Sure. But that wasn't the point.

Kiefer grabbed his collar and yanked him in close.

"Ryner!"

She could see her reflection in his watery, shimmering eyes. There was a harsh glint to them. Between the two of them, she was definitely the one who looked more like a devil… and as a devil, she would send him straight to hell.

"Ryner, listen to me," she said. The grave tone of her voice made him gulp and stand straighter. Heh heh… still got it. "Ryner, this depth of emotion between Sion and Fiole means… Sion wasn't cheating on you with Fiole!"

"Bwuh?! But how - "

"He's been cheating on Fiole with  _ you _ !"

"Ack!"

"That's right!" Kiefer rambled on, balling her hands into fists and shaking them up and down. " _ You _ were the mistress! The prison bitch! He's been dishonoring Fiole's memory by fooling around with you! ...oh, and probably knocking Ferris's brother up. Really, what a scoundrel."

"B, but me and Sion go way back…"

"Ryner," Kiefer said, pityingly, "when has that ever stopped anyone? Moreover, you were in prison for two years, weren't you? And then you were out of Roland for ages…"

"This, this can't be happening," Ryner muttered to himself. Geez, hadn't she cornered him enough yet? Just give in and face it already, right? "What me and Sion have… what we did…" he flushed and shook his head vehemently. Wait, what  _ did _ they do? "What we have is definitely special… m, moreover, that guy was just his secretary! It's always the secretary that's the mistress, isn't it?"

He looked at her, pleading. Kiefer could only shake her head slowly.

"In this case… it seems that Fiole's was the dedicated two-year relationship, despite being a secretary… while you were the one-year fling. ... ** _Mistress Ryner_**!"

"G-guwahhh!"

His wail was truly pitiful. But this was for his sake, too. The sooner he got over Sion the better it'd be for everyone involved, especially if Sion was having a baby.

"In any case… now that we've established that Sion's cheated on you before," Kiefer continued, doing her best to ignore his whimpering, "then when we look at it… it's completely plausible that he's the one that knocked up Ferris's brother, isn't it? Probable, even, if he's really as much of a shut-in as you say."

"Maybe he's not - "

"You already said it. You can't take it back now." Why was he still squirming this much, after she'd hit so many nails on so many heads… geez. Did he want her to crucify him or what? 

"Uu… uu…"

Oh, he was really crying now. It was very cute, somehow, and tugged at her heart. B, but she couldn't afford to soften up now! "Ryner, you're going to ruin the dango, it'll be too salt… oh? Yes?"

Someone had broken away from the rest of the kitchen with a platter of perfectly made dango.

"...Miss Knolles."

"Ah! Relca! Wow…"

"It looked like he was dragging you off-course," Relca said, face as blank as ever. "So I took it upon myself to create a solution."

For Relca to be able to present her with this now… she must have noticed and made her decision towards the start. "You're so perceptive," Kiefer praised, and petted her hair. "Vois is lucky to have a subordinate like you!"

"...Lord Vois," she muttered, but she didn't seem to mind it. "Speaking of, do you think Lord Vois would like this dango…?"

Poor girl. But she had really saved them here. Kiefer gave her the same sort of smile she could imagine Naia giving a young girl in love. "I'm sure Lord Vois will appreciate it. After all, he's fond of cute things, and this dango is such a nice pink. But you know, he'll probably appreciate it even more if you jab his hand with the skewers."

"L-lord Vois… Lord Vois will punish…"

"He'll appreciate that opportunity too! You know he will!" Kiefer gave Relca her most encouraging look, and pressed one of the dango skewers into her hand, wrapping Relca's fingers around it. "Follow your heart, Relca!"

Relca reddened from head to toe. "...yes… you as well, Miss Knolles…!"

Behind them, Ryner burst into a fresh wave of sobs.

"...I'll deal with this, you go on ahead."

"Yes! Miss Knolles!"

-

All the way up to Ferris' room, Kiefer lectured Ryner for ruining their batch and forcing poor Relca to have to save them.

"But, she decided at the start…"

"That just makes it worse, Ryner! Oh, we're here."

Despite the ruckus, Ferris hadn't kicked the door open to shout into the hall. She must be really upset. Kiefer stepped up to knock.

"Ah! Kiefer, wai - "

The door opened inward at a stunning speed. A sword came crashing down at an even more amazing speed, so fast that Kiefer couldn't even react. In fact, she was still thinking 'ah, so it opens that way' when the blade stopped a few inches above her face.

"Huh? Kiefer? ...you didn't even flinch," Ferris muttered. Well, of course not. Her reaction time was hardly on the level of an Eris playing around, never mind an Eris that was emotionally unstable.

She moved the platter of dango to one hand so she could push the blade away with her fingertips. "Can we come in? We made dango."

"...Ryner's cooking - "

"Don't worry! I got some Wynnit recipes. Um, I think these three are the house special, and over here is cherry snowflake…"

Ferris seemed to melt with relief. She really was a cute girl, despite Ryner's claims. Even if she left broken walls and broken skulls in her wake, well, wasn't it to be expected when you gave someone with her honest personality such strength? It wasn't so bad.

"Mm… then, I'll be judging your skills as an apprentice of dango, Kiefer," Ferris said, and snatched up the skewers with such enthusiasm that Kiefer nearly didn't have the heart to tell her this was Relca's batch. 

But if Ferris started praising her, then she really wouldn't be able to say it!

"Ah… actually, Ryner cried into our mixing bowl, so this batch is…!"

"Delicious! Amazing! Excellent! Even more savory for having been seasoned with Ryner's tears!"

It didn't feel like they were on the same page at all?!

Kiefer sighed and, in her heart, promised to make it up to Ferris. "...I'll make you dango properly next time, okay?"

Ferris nodded, polishing off another skewer. "I'll judge it properly! None of Ryner's blubbering to interfere!"

"Why me…"

Oh, right, he was still here.

"It sounds like you have a lot to talk about…" But Kiefer didn't exactly want to leave the two of them alone. "I'll put on some tea."

Although it was nice to enjoy dango with tea, all of it was gone by the time the tea was ready. Kiefer poured out a few cups anyways. They'd probably need it.

Ferris took a sip and then cleared her throat loudly.

"I'm sure Ryner has already blabbed everything to you, Kiefer… so I'll say it plainly. I think… that Sion is the father!"

Ryner choked, spewing tea all over Kiefer's side - and quickly found himself on the ground, courtesy of a blow from Ferris.

"Your true colors show again, huh…! Getting a sweet maiden all wet like that! Spraying her with your dirty fluids!"

Kiefer's face heated up. "Saying it like that is, is definitely - "

"Why is this happening to meee!! First I learn that Sion's been cheating, then I get maligned and slandered! I'm the victim here! I'm innocenttt!!"

"Huh?" Ferris backed off, alarmed. "Sion cheated on you? But you were in jail when he and my brother… and didn't you break up last time?"

Kiefer coughed delicately. 

"...Sion most likely slept with his secretary while you and Ryner left Roland for the first time, Ferris," she explained. Ferris turned to look at her with strangely glittering eyes.

"I, I see…!"

"M, moreover, what's this about him sleeping with Lucile while I was in prisonnn!!"

"Was this the first time or the second time he was in prison?" Kiefer wanted to know, too. When she'd dropped in during the revolution Sion hadn't indicated anything about having a lover, and the second time… um…

...well, she'd always figured that Sion kept Ryner in a cell so close to home for a reason…

"Ah, it was the first time," Ferris said. "Before we met - "

"Lucile knew Sion back then?! N, no, of course… he was Sion's body… guard…"

Ryner… truly looked as though his soul was leaving his body. 

"Ah, I didn't know about your brother's involvement in the revolution. What was it like?"

Ferris took a deep breath. "Th, that shut-in started leaving his room just to meet Sion… they'd stand on balconies under the moonlight, and whisper in each other's ears when I drew close… and one time Sion told me to call him 'brother-in-law'…!"

"No way!" Ryner shouted. "That, that has to be his nasty sense of humor, right?!"

"That's what I thought too!" Ferris shouted back, and punched the air. "But I saw my brother yanking Sion's hair the way Sion likes to do to you! And when I told him to go back to being a shut-in, he told me to read some h-h-homoerotic literature to better understand the intimacies between men…!"

"Guh! Your, your BL collection started there…?!"

This wasn't good. Kiefer was being totally left out.

"...so, to clarify," she started, and was pleasantly surprised when Ferris slapped a hand over Ryner's mouth so that Kiefer didn't have to talk around his moaning, "Sion was sleeping with his co-conspirator, Lucile, for the two years that Ryner was in prison… before moving onto his sweet-natured secretary during times of peace. Meanwhile, he was also stringing Ryner along… and after his secretary was assassinated, he seduced Ryner as a rebound - "

"Mmph! Mm,  _ mmphhh _ !!!" Ryner protested, thrashing in agony.

Ferris moved her hands to his neck. "Yes," she said, voice grave as death while she choked him halfway there. "The lecherous Sion, having conned Ryner into his bed, then proceeded to do all sorts of lewd things involving rope and - "

"Hhrckk!!"

"H-h-he did what?!" Kiefer yelped, before remembering the situation. "Oh! Ryner! Hold on! Ferris, loosen your grip a bit - "

After rescuing Ryner from Ferris's overenthusiastic grip, she propped him up on some pillows and pet his hair. Ferris scooted her armchair closer, so… before she knew it, Kiefer found herself petting both their heads.

"...A, anyways… then… after the two of you left the country for the last time, Sion probably… with your brother, again…?"

Ferris nodded. "That's what I'm thinking."

"And so there's a - oh!" That was so stupid of her! Kiefer hadn't even considered what it might mean, politically. If Sion and Lucile had taken steps to secure an heir, did Sion feel threatened? Was his reign in jeopardy? Was it because of Gastark's expansion or Spelliyet's growing influence? 

"What is it, Kiefer?"

Um… she'd have to explain it as simply as possible for this audience.

"If Sion and Lucile, his co-conspirator, are having a baby… then doesn't it mean Sion feels threatened, and is trying to secure an heir…?"

Ryner and Ferris both paled remarkably quickly.

"So that letter _was_ a cry for help!"

"Sion's in danger, I have to save him!"

Kiefer and Ferris both looked at him.

"Er… that is,  _ we _ have to save him…?"

Did he seriously think that was the problem here?!

"...putting that aside," Kiefer said. "Ferris, what's this about a letter…?"

"Ah!" Ferris shot up. "Kiefer, I'll have you read it too! M, maybe your spy powers can find a secret message?! Tell me what you think, okay!"

Kiefer looked at Ryner.

"Ryner…" she hissed, "have you been feeding poor, gullible Ferris lies about my abilities?" 

She'd hate to let her down, but she wasn't that good of a spy, and even the best of them had limits… Ryner, what have you done?

"What? No way! I picked it up from her, you know?"

Eh? Eh? Um, she didn't know, actually…

"Ah! Here it is! Kiefer, Kiefer, read it…!"

It was… going to be a long night. She couldn't see herself snagging any beauty sleep. But somehow, with Ryner and Ferris acting so lively, Kiefer didn't mind it in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kiefer hijacked the wordcount and made the chapter into higurashi its not my fault dont blame me i love her shes my wife.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how does my roommate fall asleep so fast? i wish i could fall asleep that fast. instead i must lie there, awake, for like three fcking hours before sleep finally comes to claim me

Lucile’s body is warm against his.

If Miran was to compare His Majesty to the sun, then perhaps Lucile could be the light glinting off of the sea. The man has always been radiant, of course, but it was a pale light, before - a pathetic reflection that has never offered any kindness or comfort. Now, however, he is warmer. Not so much as the sun, and yet undeniably it is comforting.

Which is to say, it is awful.

His eyes are opened more often now in some mockery of humanity. His smiles seem more reachable. His body itself does not curve as delicately as it once did. His waist, in particular - where once Miran might have compared it to the carefully sculpted stem of a glass chalice, it now - well -

This is not the Lucile he knows, if he ever knew such a monster at all. He has no time to look upon this impostor in such awe or mercy, especially as Lucile has never looked upon him with any. No, until just recently Lucile had never looked upon him much at all, had he? So Miran cannot afford - Miran must -

"You are thinking so loudly," Lucile sighs a little cloud into the air. Miran has been keeping his rooms cooler, but not so cool that Lucile’s breath should be visible like that. Does Lucile know what he is thinking, about warmth and body heat? Is Lucile teasing? Miran opens his mouth to - to say _something_ , surely - but Lucile just takes this as an invitation to lean down and sigh into Miran’s mouth, instead. This also… allows his belly to hang lower, brushing then pressing down against Miran's abdomen. Without even thinking, his hands fly to hold it, to lift the burden from his skin.

"How cute," Lucile says, and stops holding himself up completely. Miran tenses, of course. Who is he to lay on Miran so easily, when the only thing between Miran's claws and his precious womb is such a small amount of flesh…!

"Haha. Of course, I can guess as to why you have been so very distracted lately…"

He could sink his claws in. He could tear Lucile's stomach open now, right now -

"Dear me, you _are_ upset. I wonder why," Lucile says, suddenly resting by his side rather than on top of him, hands clasped cutely over Miran's shoulder. The happy curve of his eyes must surely be insincere, and yet it looks so genuine. So warm. So - no, he absolutely cannot afford to think of Lucile in such a way, only - only…

Lucile's belly bumps against his hip. At first, he thinks that Lucile is just shifting to get more comfortable. But then it happens again, more insistent, and he realizes that the baby - that awful, parasitic, gestating spawn - it must be kicking. 

It's _kicking._ It's kicking _him_ , its sire, no, its wretched _father_ , and Lucile is still smiling, smiling, _smiling_ \- 

God, will the child smile like that? Or will it smile like Miran does? Will it - will it have its mother's smile on Miran's awful, terrible face?

No, he mustn't think of that. He mustn't think too hard. Miran brings his arm up to push some hair from his face, exhaling carefully… and then slams it to the side, to try and drive his elbow into Lucile's throat - 

\- but Lucile just pushes back effortlessly, as if it were easy, as if any of this is easy - !

He rolls over, chasing that movement, and grapples frantically for Lucile's wrists. His ring comes to his call without the need for thought, spearing through Lucile's flesh to pin him in place, just as his own father liked to pin butterflies to the walls in some attempt at collecting beauty, to preserve something small and dainty and - and -

Miran seizes Lucile's throat with both hands. He can feel the cartilage, like this. He presses this thumbs deeper and imagines that he can feel the bone as well, the vertebrae, the little juts of his spine - he could twist it, yes, snapping Lucile's spine and rendering him at the very least paralyzed - as paralyzed and helpless as Miran was, once upon a time - 

"Have I angered you?" Lucile asks, as if Miran does not hold his life in his hands. "You're making quite the face right now. I don't believe I've seen it before."

What is - ?! What is the _meaning_ of such a thing?! The implication that Lucile does not anger him regularly, the implication that Lucile has seen so many of his expressions that an unfamiliar one should be shocking, the implication of him preferring to ask after Miran in such a way rather than defending or fighting back at all, the implication of him saying so here and now, during their time of intimacy - just what is the meaning of it?!

He grits his teeth and drives his nails in until his fingertips ache. Should they snap and leave his flesh exposed and bleeding, it will simply be a most-deserved prize, and he will wear the open wounds with pride. He opens his mouth, perhaps to snarl, but instead what comes out is a hoarse and unrecognizable thing. 

“Shut up.”

A plea, not a demand. Miran digs his thumbs in with the intent to choke the life from Lucile’s eyes, to strangle that dull light which glimmers within them, to crush the gleam where this monster bares his teeth, and yet. And yet.

Lucile is still smiling.

Is it so easy? Is it really so easy, after all this time? He leans in closer, transfixed by the fluttering of Lucile’s pale eyelashes, but it is a mistake. It is a mistake, because he is straddling Lucile’s hips and Lucile’s belly is pressed against his, so leaning any closer means - 

It’s not as though it’s a hard kick. But somehow, _somehow_ , he still wasn’t - he wasn’t expecting it. That firm little nudge against him that throws his world from its axis so completely. Miran is absolutely floored by his discomfort, his disgust, and - and it’s not as though the wretched thing is in _his_ belly! Why should he recoil like this? Why should revulsion lance through his stomach until he wants to vomit? Why should he?! Between Lucile and that parasite, that parasite which _he himself has planted_ , it should be clear which is the threat - which is the enemy - !!

All the same, he lurches back. His grip loosens around Lucile’s neck as he does - and then Lucile’s neck is passing through his fingers entirely, the ghastly demon that he is. He throws his arms up and forward, desperately trying to seize hold of his adversary. Miran cannot allow this chance to slip through his fingers, but - but Lucile is beyond him, already. The closest he gets to touching is when his forearm clips through Lucile’s shoulder. It feels like cold water - no, like an open flame. Water would offer more resistance than Lucile’s flesh does. 

It occurs to him that Lucile’s stomach is still warm against him, as are his thighs, but before he can think of some way to take advantage of Lucile’s incomplete use of his magic he has already been pinned. Trapped, _again_.

“That did hurt, you know,” Lucile says, and offers up a wrist for Miran to examine. “Look what you have done… I look forward to you becoming more creative with this.”

There is a darkness blooming across Lucile’s unbroken skin, like a brand. Further out, it fades to the color of a bruise. All this time, he had so rarely left a mark on Lucile - oftentimes, the most he could achieve was a torn hem - and now…

Is this… is this all he can amount to? Even when Lucile is at his weakest? Even when Lucile has to carry the burden of a second life within him…?

No. No. He has made Lucile bleed before. He has inflicted wounds that would have cost an ordinary man one of their limbs. He cannot - he _must_ take this further - 

Lucile’s hand shoots out to catch his wrist as soon as he moves it. There’s a dull thud a moment later, and - and a distant pain. Miran wants to glance over and assess the damage, but… but he cannot tear his gaze away from Lucile’s eyes, or his expression. It doesn’t matter, anyways. Whether his hand has been severed from his wrist or whether it was merely a few fingers, Miran can hardly fight this demon without his ring. No matter how quick he is, Lucile is quicker still. Actually, this sort of restrained, close-quarters combat is useless entirely. Miran should have remembered that. Why hadn’t he remembered that? Has Lucile cast some spell to muddle his mind? Is that why he agreed to follow Miran to this room? 

From the corner of his eye, Miran sees Lucile’s hand moving. A moment later, the pain flares. His hand, then. The thud must have been the sound of it hitting the - floor? The wall? Did he hear a second sound after, or not? He can’t recall. It’s as if he’s under a spell.

A finger presses against his lower lip. It’s hot. Burning.

His tongue flickers out without thinking. Without thinking, he takes Lucile’s finger into his mouth.

“...cute,” Lucile murmurs, eyes opening just the slightest bit wider. That word jolts Miran back to his senses. What is he doing? He doesn’t have time to, to suck at Lucile’s hands like an - an infant. God. God, an _infant_ \- 

If he fails there will be an _infant_ with his - with his eyes, his eyes are so close to the same shade it barely matters in the first place, and possibly his face, and most likely his hair, and - and - it will _look_ like him, it will look like all his weaknesses, and be raised in - in the same den of bloodshed that produced _this_ \- 

He doesn’t realize he is growling until the slight drip of blood surges to a flood, and as he throws himself forward he nearly chokes on the finger in his mouth. Lucile hops lightly to his feet, completely unbothered, as if they were dancing leisurely. Meanwhile, Miran spits Lucile’s index from his mouth before he lunges across the room for his hand.

It had hit the wall before sliding down to the carpet. The carvings there are a mess, and if this were any other time he might even have something witty to say about it. As it is, he snatches it up, but - but he doesn’t have time to purify the wound before reattaching it, so - so what would be best is - 

Miran tries to rip the ring from its finger, but it gets stuck at the knuckle, so he has to push it back down and then bite that finger into two. He must look like a beast, he must look savage, but it hardly matters. He can reattach it later, and in the first place, it _is_ his hand. So it’s his to discard as soon as he gets the ring back on, even if it’s on the opposite side.

He’s not used to fighting with this hand. He’s not used to it but he’s driven, he is _desperate_ , there is no greater danger than an enemy that is cornered and he can still _win_ -

Lucile steps elegantly out of the room just as a beast of shadow tears the door from its hinges. 

Miran gives chase, of course. Across two halls and a flight of stairs, forgoing balance in favor of momentum. He only thinks to cauterize the stump of his missing hand when he has to break his fall charging around a corner and ends up slamming it into a railing.

It hurts, but not as much as the distance growing between them.

Lucile leads him onto a balcony, at a point, and Miran is enthralled at the thought of actually cornering the man - but Lucile just as easily slips back into the house past him, with only a little mud on his slippers to show for it whereas Miran ends up careening into a puddle.

It can’t have been long. Maybe minutes. Only minutes, and yet Miran is this dishevelled, this unkempt, his hair sticking to his skin from rain and sweat, and -

And they are on the ground floor, already. If he is not quick, then Lucile will - Lucile will _leave him_ \- 

Miran screams.

“There isn’t a single affair of yours that I could not handle for you, after your death!”  
  
“Haha.” To his eternal shame, his shoulders sag from relief at the sound. “Is that so?”  
  
“His Majesty, the issue of Ryner Lute, that strange Duke - even your estate and sisters, you can leave them all to me!” It’s a threat. It’s a promise of death. So why is his damned voice _shaking_ ?  
  
“Oh, perhaps you’d care to deal with them currently, then. In this case where I am so unnecessary, whatever should I do?

His voice. It’s so light. So airy. Miran howls and snaps his teeth.

“You - you _know_ what I am to say, so just - ”

Lucile laughs. Lucile just laughs, not even bothering to cover his mouth, and the sound rings through the hall like a disaster. Like an avalanche. 

But even as he laughs, even as Miran throws himself frantically after it, the sound is getting further. The sound is getting further and further and - 

“Get back here!”  
  
There’s no answer.

“Lucile Eris! Just get back here and - _just die for me already!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> i will have you.  
> i will have you.  
> i will find a way, and i will have you...r life, that is? yes. obviously, that is what i mean.  
> -miran, probably


End file.
